WAITING 


MACMILLAN  AND  CO.,   LIMITED 

LONDON         BOMBAY    •   CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 


WAITING 


GERALD    O'DONOVAN 

AUTHOR  OP  "FATHER  RALPH  " 


NEW  YORK:    MITCHELL  KENNERLEY :    1915 


WAITING 


CHAPTER   I 

"  HAVE  you  done  papering  the  room,  Mary  ?  " 

"  I  have  then,  and  the  paint  has  dried  out  nicely 
on  the  chairs.  There's  not  the  least  fear  of  them 
sticking  to  any  one  in  the  morning.  The  eggs  are 
gathered  and  the  priest's  cake  is  in  the  cupboard. 
Maurice  is  bringing  home  a  couple  of  pound  of  beef- 
steak from  the  butcher  within  at  Liscannow.  I  never 
rose  to  the  like  before  at  a  station  breakfast,  but  a 
neighbour  told  me  Father  James  has  a  great  liking 
for  it  as  a  relish  with  his  tea." 

"  The  Lord  send  it  might  put  him  in  good 
humour,"  Mike  Blake  said,  puffing  a  short,  black, 
clay  pipe  thoughtfully. 

"  Amen,  amen  to  that,"  his  wife  said,  lifting  the 
lid,  laden  with  smouldering  sods  of  turf,  off  a 
bastable  on  the  open  hearth.  "  It's  doing  grand," 
she  added,  peeping  under  the  lid,  "as  brown  as  a 
berry,  and  no  signs  of  burning  on  it." 

"  It's  little  people'll  care  for  soda  cake  when 
they'll  have  lashings  of  white  bread  and  their  share 
of  the  priest's  currant  cake  as  well." 

"  Don't  you  be  always  looking  at  the  black  side 
of  things,  Mike  Blake.  When  I  was  borrowing  the 
cups  and  saucers  off  Mrs.  Maloney  beyond  at 

B 

2065740 


2  WAITING 

Lissfad,  she  said  the  young  curate  had  a  liking  for 
soda  cake.  He  was  reared  in  a  town,  and  no  doubt 
got  his  fill  of  white  bread  in  his  time,  and  he  was 
never  seen  to  touch  the  priest's  cake.  His  own 
servant  girl  told  Mrs.  Maloney  that,  through  dint  of 
fasting  for  the  late  masses,  his  stomach  is  that  weak 
that  it  rises  against  currant  cake  in  the  mornings." 

Mike  watched  the  turf  blaze  on  the  hearth  for  a 
few  minutes. 

"That's  queer  now,"  he  said,  his  eyes  fixed 
abstractedly  on  the  pipe  which  he  held  out  at 
arm's  length.  "  I'm  always  able  to  eat  what  God 
sends." 

Mrs.  Blake  took  the  cake  out  of  the  oven,  laid 
it  end  up  against  a  ledge  of  the  dresser,  sniffing  the 
odour  appreciatively. 

"  I  know  by  the  smell  of  it  that  it's  as  light  as 
a  feather,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction. 
"  Everything  is  ready  now  for  the  morning,  thanks 
be  to  God." 

"  Sit  down  on  the  creepy  there  and  take  your 
ease  now,  poor  woman.  It's  on  your  feet  you  were 
all  day,"  Mike  said,  making  elaborate  preparations 
for  re-filling  his  pipe. 

"  I  can't  abide  an  untidy  hearth.  Wait  till  I 
put  the  broom  to  it,"  she  said,  taking  a  broom 
from  beside  the  back  door  and  brushing  outlying 
embers  and  ashes  on  to  the  fire. 

She  sat  on  a  three-legged  stool  opposite  her 
husband,  shaded  her  eyes  from  the  blaze  and 
watched  him  scrape  out  his  pipe  with  a  broken  blade 
of  an  old  pen-knife.  He  emptied  the  scrapings  on 
to  the  hob  beside  him,  carefully  replacing  them  in 
the  pipe  when  he  had  re-filled  it  with  fresh  tobacco. 
Her  gaze  wandered  to  his  face  as  he  lifted  a  live  sod 


WAITING  3 

of  turf  with  the  tongs,  blew  it  to  a  flame,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  light  his  pipe.  As  the  flame  glowed  on 
his  face  a  short  stubble  showed  on  his  clear,  ruddy- 
skin. 

"  'Twould  never  do  not  to  be  shaved  in  front 
of  the  priests,"  she  said  anxiously. 

He  rubbed  his  chin  with  his  hand,  put  down  the 
tongs  and  said  dolefully — 

"True  for  you,  Mary.  That's  the  worst  of  a 
station  or  a  fair  or  the  like,  a  man  has  to  face  the 
razor  twice  in  the  one  week.  I'll  bring  myself  to  it 
sometime  between  this  and  the  bed." 

He  puffed  his  pipe  slowly,  his  eyes  following 
the  shifting  figures  in  the  fire.  Now  and  again  a 
troubled  look  flitted  across  his  hard  grey  eyes,  his 
lips  tightened  on  the  pipe  stem,  giving  prominence 
to  his  strong  chin,  and  the  lines  on  his  forehead 
deepened. 

His  wife  followed  the  changes  in  his  face  with 
some  anxiety.  Once  she  opened  her  lips  as  if  to 
speak,  but  shut  them  again.  He  broke  the  silence 
after  a  few  minutes. 

u  1  wish  I  hadn't  to  face  the  big  man,"  he  said, 
puckering  his  forehead  till  his  shaggy  brows  almost 
covered  his  eyes. 

"  Sure,  he  can't  eat  you,  Mike,"  she  said 
encouragingly.  "  And  if  Father  James  is  hard  to 
deal  with  itself,  we  might  make  it  worth  his  while  to 
be  pleasant  and  accommodating." 

She  glanced  round  the  kitchen  complacently. 
The  hammered-earth  floor  was  swept  clean.  The 
light  of  the  fire  glinted  on  old  lustre  jugs  hanging 
from  the  well-stocked  dresser.  Little  curtains  of 
cheap  lace,  looped  back  with  pink  ribbon,  encased 
the  one  small  window.  The  feeble  rays  of  an 


4  WAITING 

oil  lamp  on  the  window  sill  showed  up  the  well- 
scoured  deal  table  in  front  of  the  window,  and 
lost  themselves  in  the  dim  shapes  of  a  few  hams 
and  flitches  of  bacon  suspended  from  the  newly 
whitened  ceiling. 

"Whist,  woman,"  he  said,  looking  round 
cautiously.  "  In  a  matter  of  the  kind  you  mustn't 
let  one  hand  know  what  the  other  hand  is  doing. 
We're  fairly  snug,  thank  God,  but  for  all  that  we 
mustn't  be  too  free  with  the  few  pence  we  have. 
There's  Tom  to  think  of,  and  Hanny  will  have  to 
be  fortuned.  Besides,  it  cost  us  a  power  of  money 
already  to  make  Maurice  a  schoolmaster." 

"  It's  little  good  that'll  do  him  or  us  unless  he 
can  get  a  school,"  Mrs.  Blake  said  moodily. 

"  True  enough,"  Mike  said,  tapping  his  pipe  on 
the  heel  of  his  shoe  to  loosen  the  tobacco  ;  "  though 
Maurice  himself  told  me  that  up  and  down  the 
country  everywhere  there's  plenty  of  priests  giving 
schools  to  masters  for  a  knowledge  of  book-learning 
alone,  and  without  the  compliment  of  a  penny." 

"What's  the  use  of  talking  like  that,  Mike 
Blake  ?  And  the  whole  world  knowing  it  was  never 
Father  James  Mahon's  way  to  give  anything  for 
nothing.  Maybe  it's  how  you  want  to  break  my 
heart,"  she  added,  raising  her  voice,  "  by  sending 
my  son  roaming  the  nation  in  search  of  a  cheap 
school,  and  you  having  dry  money,  enough  and 
more  to  get  him  into  Bourneen,  lying  idle  in  the 
Liscannow  bank.  And  me  wearing  myself  to  the 
bone,  too,  for  the  last  week,  to  ready  the  house  for 
as  fine  a  station  as  will  ever  be  seen  in  the  townland 
—or  for  that  matter,  in  the  whole  parish — and  all  to 
pave  the  way  for  you  to  broach  the  matter  decently 
to  Father  James." 


WAITING  5 

She  wiped  her  eyes  with  the  corner  of  her  apron. 

"  "Tis  you  always  had  the  tears  handy,  Mary. 
Accusing  me  in  the  wrong,  too  !  And  I  only  sur- 
veying the  ground  on  all  sides,  so  as  to  argue  the 
affair  proper  with  Father  James,"  he  said  with  an 
aggrieved  look. 

"  I  might  get  the  young  curate  to  put  in  a 
good  word  with  Father  James,"  Mrs.  Blake  said 
in  a  calm,  tearless  voice,  smoothing  her  apron 
carefully.  "  He's  taken  with  Maurice  greatly  over 
the  Irish." 

"  You  might  drop  a  tear  or  two  at  him,"  Mike 
said  dryly.  "  If  you  got  round  the  curate  itself, 
sorra  much  good  it'd  do  you  with  Father  James. 
As  long  as  I  remember,  the  one  thing  he  can't  abide 
above  everything  else  is  a  curate  sticking  his  nose 
into  the  affairs  of  the  parish." 

"  It's  a  pity  we  didn't  make  a  priest  of  Maurice 
when  we  were  about  it.  We  wouldn't  have  to  be 
going  hat  in  hand  for  him  now,"  Mrs.  Blake  said 
with  a  sigh. 

"  Hear  the  woman  talk  !  "  Mike  said  despairingly 
to  the  fire,  spreading  out  his  hands  and  shaking  his 
head  vigorously  up  and  down.  "It's  hard  set  enough 
we  were  to  spare  the  money  to  make  a  schoolmaster 
of  him,  let  alone  making  a  priest  of  him." 

"  There's  no  use  crying  over  spilt  milk  anyway. 
Here,  take  the  kettle  off  the  crane,  and  scrape  the 
beard  off  yourself  while  the  house  is  quiet.  There's 
nothing  you'd  ever  do  right  only  that  I'm  always  at 
your  elbow." 

"  You're  a  caution  at  the  tongue,  you  are,  Mary," 
Mike  grunted. 

He  stood  up,  stretched  himself,  yawned,  and 
set  about  his  preparations  for  shaving  in  a  leisurely 


6  WAITING 

fashion.  Taking  the  lamp  off  the  window  sill  he 
put  it  on  the  corner  of  the  table,  whence  it  shed 
a  faint  light  on  a  small  handglass  hanging  on  the 
wall.  He  laid  a  tin  basin  of  hot  water  on  the 
dresser,  and,  after  much  fumbling,  found  his  razor 
in  one  of  the  lustre  jugs. 

"  If  you  make  a  mess  of  the  dresser,  you'll  get  a 
taste  of  Hanny's  tongue  when  she  comes  back  from 
the  Reardons,"  Mrs.  Blake  said,  as  he  began  to  splash 
the  water. 

She  mended  a  rent  in  the  back  of  his  sleeved 
waistcoat  while  he  shaved  with  much  spluttering  and 
grunting.  He  had  just  put  some  cobweb  on  a  cut 
on  his  chin,  and  was  stropping  his  razor  on  the  leg 
of  his  corduroy  trousers,  when  the  yard  gate  was  shut 
with  a  bang. 

"That's  Maurice,  or  them  other  galivanters, 
Tom  and  Hanny — though  it's  early  for  them  yet," 
Mrs.  Blake  said,  pausing  in  her  sewing  and  listening 
intently.  "  There's  only  one  footstep — it  must  be 
Maurice." 

"  Not  a  word  to  him  about  our  little  dealing  with 
Father  James,"  Mike  said  hastily.  "  The  less  said 
about  a  thing  like  that  the  soonest  mended." 

She  nodded.  The  latch  of  the  front  door  was 
moved  and  the  door  pushed  in.  It  was  soon  fol- 
lowed by  the  half  door,  and  a  young  man  of  about 
twenty- four  came  in  excitedly. 

"  It's  true  about  the  Bourneen  school,"  he  said. 
"  I  got  a  lift  home  from  Father  Ned  Malone,  and 
he  told  me  for  certain  that  the  old  master  resigned 
to-day." 

His  blue  eyes  gleamed  and  lit  up  his  whole  face, 
giving  a  boyish  softness  to  his  strong  jaw  and  firm 
lips.  He  held  up  a  discoloured  newspaper  parcel, 


WAITING  7 

smiled  with  the  corners  of  his  lips,  and  threw  the 
parcel  on  the  table. 

"  I  don't  think  I'll  ever  be  able  to  eat  meat  again 
after  bringing  that  all  the  way  from  Liscannow," 
he  said,  wiping  his  hands  on  the  roller  towel  at  the 
back  of  the  door. 

"  I  was  afeard  you  might  forget  it,  and  we  must 
lose  no  chance  of  getting  the  right  side  of  Father 
James  now,"  Mrs.  Blake  said,  her  eyes  fixed  on  him 
in  admiration.  "  It's  no  surprise  to  me,"  she  went 
on,  again  plying  her  needle  rapidly,  "  that  Master 
Driscoll  is  giving  up.  He  gave  me  a  hint  of  it 
early  in  the  summer,  and  you  still  up  in  Dublin  at 
the  Training  College.  '  I'm  growing  old,  Mrs. 
Blake,'  he  said,  c  and  by  Christmas  I'll  lay  the  cane 
aside.  With  the  help  of  God,  and  approaching 
Father  Mahon  in  the  right  way,  Maurice'll  step 
into  my  shoes,'  he  said." 

Maurice  took  a  seat  in  the  chimney  corner  and 
gazed  at  the  fire. 

"  When  I  think  of  asking  the  big  man  I  get 
nervous,"  he  said.  "  He's  very  distant  with  me 
when  he  passes  me  on  the  road  ever  since  I  came 
home.  Though  he  knows  I'm  fully  trained  and  all." 

"  Priests  do  have  a  lot  on  their  minds,"  his 
mother  said  eagerly.  "  I  wouldn't  mind  his  black 
looks  at  all.  Sure,  you  wouldn't,  Mike  ? " 

"  Sorra  bit,"  Mike  said,  emptying  the  basin  of 
water  with  an  emphatic  dash  through  the  back  door. 
"It  comes  natural  to  a  man  that  has  the  ruling  of 
several  hundred  families  in  a  big  parish  like  this  to 
carry  himself  stiff"." 

"  It's  not  my  idea  of  a  priest,"  Maurice  said,  with 
a  slight  frown  ;  "  Father  Ned,  now,  is  different " 

"  Oh,  he's  only  a  new  beginner.     When  he  fills 


8  WAITING 

out  and  gets  a  parish  of  his  own,  you'll  see  he'll  be 
important  enough,"  Mrs.  Blake  said,  holding  up  the 
waistcoat  to  the  light. 

"  He's  not  that  sort,"  Maurice  said,  laughing. 

"  Will  ye  not  leave  the  priests  alone  ?  They 
belong  to  God  and  let  Him  look  after  them,"  Mike 
said,  drawing  a  wooden  chair  across  the  floor  to  the 
front  of  the  fire.  "Besides,  you'd  never  know 
when  you'd  want  them  to  do  you  a  good  turn." 

"  He  can't  do  worse  than  refuse  me." 

"  Refuse  a  master  with  all  the  prize  books  and 
certificates  you  have  !  Did  you  ever  hear  the  like, 
Mike  ?  "  Mrs.  Blake  said,  throwing  the  waistcoat 
into  Mike's  lap.  "There's  your  waistcoat  for  you, 
and  don't  be  tearing  it  again  in  a  hurry.  Not  but 
that  it  might  be  better,  maybe,  if  Mike  had  a  word 
with  the  priest  first,"  she  added,  with  a  shrewd  look 
at  her  husband. 

Maurice  looked  dubiously  at  his  father,  who 
said,  as  he  wriggled  into  his  waistcoat,  "  It's  hardly 
worth  while  putting  it  on  and  it  so  near  bed- 
time— 

"  Did  you  hear  me,  Mike  ?  "  Mrs.  Blake  said 
sharply. 

"  My  face  is  as  prickly  as  a  furze  field — the  way 
I  grubbed  at  it  with  the  razor,"  Mike  said  irrele- 
vantly. When  he  had  buttoned  his  waistcoat  he 
glanced  hesitatingly  at  his  wife.  Her  stern  look 
seemed  to  give  him  courage.  He  struck  his  knee 
sharply  with  his  hand.  "I'll  do  it,"  he  said.  "I'll 
face  him  like  a  man." 

"  I  think  I'd  rather  send  in  my  application  and 
stand  on  my  own  merits.  After  all,  I'm  well  quali- 
fied," Maurice  said  shyly. 

"  Listen  to  the  dying-away  voice  of  him  when 


WAITING  9 

he's  talking  of  himself !  "  Mrs.  Blake  said  disdain- 
fully. "  If  Father  James  let  a  bellow  at  you  he'd 
make  you  tongue-tied  entirely.  Be  said  by  your 
mother,  and  there's  a  good  boy.  Mike  can  make 
the  most  of  your  good  points.  He's  not  much  at 
the  talk  except  when  he's  worked  up,  but  then  the 
language  rises  in  him  like  water  in  a  pump." 

Maurice  smiled,  frowned  and  muttered  some- 
thing about  not  liking  it.  Mike  shuffled  his  feet 
uneasily  and  was  about  to  speak  when  his  wife  shut 
him  up. 

"Take  a  look  up  the  road  and  see  if  them 
stragglers  are  coming  home,"  she  said.  "  Hanny 
and  myself  '11  have  our  work  cut  out  for  us  in  the 
morning,  and  we  ought  to  be  in  bed  by  now." 

Mike  got  up  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  I'll  have 
a  look  round  too,  and  see  that  the  cattle  are  safe  for 
the  night,"  he  said,  moving  towards  the  door. 

Mother  and  son  sat  on  by  the  fire.  He  played 
with  the  smouldering  sods  with  the  tongs.  She 
watched  him  hungrily,  her  hands  laid  flat  on  her  lap. 

"  It's  a  great  chance  to  have  you  near  me  for 
ever  and  always,"  she  said,  with  a  break  in  her 
voice. 

He  looked  up  with  a  start,  but  her  face  was  as 
he  had  always  seen  it,  lined  and  hard. 

"  I'll  be  able  to  work  now.  There's  so  much 
for  a  man  to  do."  The  glow  in  his  eyes  died  away. 
"  That  is  if  I  get  Bourneen,"  he  added  doubtfully. 

"  I  had  it  in  my  mind  you  to  be  there,  ever  since 
the  day  Master  Driscoll  said  he  was  going  to  make 
a  monitor  of  you,"  she  said  gently. 

"  I've  been  a  great  burthen  on  ye  all,  spending 
and  not  making  anything." 

"  Mike  itself,  and  he's  sometimes  close  with  the 


io  WAITING 

money,  never  grudged  the  few  pounds  we  spent  on 
you." 

"  I  didn't  mean  it  in  that  way,  mother,"  he  said 
impulsively,  laying  his  hand  on  hers. 

She  looked  at  his  hand  curiously  for  a  moment. 
"  I  don't  know  what's  come  over  me,"  she  said, 
rising  hastily.  "  It's  the  press  of  work  for  the 
station,  I  doubt,  that  has  taken  the  wits  out  of  me." 

She  moved  and  replaced  several  articles  on  the 
dresser.  "  That's  your  father's  notion  of  cleaning 
up  after  himself.  He  and  his  shaving  !  It's  like  a 
litter  of  pigs  about  the  floor.  It's  marrying  you'll 
be  thinking  of  now  when  you  get  a  school  of  your 
own  ?  "  she  added  without  turning  round. 

Maurice  laughed  heartily.  "  It's  a  queer  mood 
you're  in,  mother.  I've  something  else  to  do 
besides  marrying.  Moreover,  there  isn't  a  girl 
between  here  and  Dublin  that'd  take  a  second 
look  at  me." 

"  Isn't  there  then  ? "  she  said,  bridling  and 
facing  him,  her  arms  akimbo.  Her  eyes  rested 
on  his  face,  from  which  his  eyes  gleamed  humor- 
ously through  half-closed  lids  ;  passed  with  a  grow- 
ing look  of  satisfaction  over  his  well-knit  figure, 
the  lines  of  which  not  even  his  ill-fitting  black 
coat  and  baggy  tweed  trousers  could  conceal.  "And 
plenty,  maybe,  the  hussies  !  if  you  gave  'em  any 
encouragement.  Keep  ofF  them,  Maurice,  agra, 
it's  only  supping  sorrow  you'd  be  with  the  half  ot 
'em.  Not  that  people  heed  that  very  much  when 
the  fit  is  on  'em,"  she  added  half  to  herself. 

The  sound  of  laughter  came  through  the  open 
door.  Mrs.  Blake  frowned.  She  listened  a  moment 
and  smiled  wearily. 

"  That's    Minnie    Reardon's    laugh,"   she    said, 


WAITING  1 1 

pursing  her  lips.  "  She  sees  Tom  and  Hanny  down 
the  road,  and  now  he'll  see  her  back  home.  Well, 
well,  sooner  or  later  it  comes  to  every  one,  and  he 
could  do  worse.  Larry  Reardon  can  give  her  a 
good  pot  of  money,  and  we  could  fortune  Hanny 
out  of  it  decently,  and  have  some  over.  What  kept 
you  so  late,  Hanny  ? "  she  said  to  a  shawled  girl 
who  stood  hesitating  in  the  doorway. 

"  The  Irish  class  was  late  to-night,"  Hanny  said 
apologetically.  "  But  look  at  what  I've  brought, 
mother." 

"  Irish  or  Rooshan,  it's  the  same  the  world 

over "  Mrs.  Blake  was  beginning,  when  she 

caught  sight  of  a  teapot  in  the  parcel  which  Hanny 
was  undoing.  "  Not  Mrs.  Reardon's  best  Britannia 
metal  teapot !  "  she  said  in  surprise. 

"The  very  one,"  Hanny  said,  displaying  it 
proudly.  "  Mrs.  Reardon  forced  it  on  me,  for  to 
be  the  priest's  teapot  at  the  station  to-morrow. 
It'll  look  grand  at  the  head  of  the  table." 

"  Six  and  twenty  years  I've  seen  it  in  her  cup- 
board, or  on  her  room  table  on  station  days,  but  she 
never  proffered  it  to  me  before,"  Mrs.  Blake  said 
musingly,  holding  the  teapot  between  her  and  the 
light. 

"  It's  a  grand  teapot,"  Maurice  said  quizzingly. 

"  It  is,"  Mrs.  Blake  said,  snapping  her  lips. 
"  It  shows  how  the  wind  blows  up  at  the  Reardons, 
anyway.  But  sure,  it's  glad  and  thanking  God  I 
ought  to  be  to  have  Tom  well  done  for,  and  not 
to  be  flying  in  the  face  of  Providence." 

"  Strawberry  and  Blacky  were  lashing  at  other 

in  the  stall,  and  I  had  to  spancel "  Mike  said, 

coming  in. 

His   wife    interrupted    him    crossly.      "  It's   all 


12  WAITING 

hours  of  the  night.  Will  you  begin  the  Rosary, 
Mike  Blake,  and  not  be  gabbling  there  ?  I'll  have 
to  be  up  before  the  dawn  to  ready  things  for  the 
priests." 

Mike  grumbled  that  there  was  "  no  depending 
on  a  woman's  temper  between  one  minute  and  the 
next,"  but  he  knelt  obediently  by  the  hob,  and  gave 
out  the  Five  Glorious  Mysteries,  to  which  his 
family  responded,  kneeling  beside  a  chair  or  table. 
Mrs.  Blake  looked  towards  the  door  as  the  latch 
rattled  in  the  middle  of  the  second  mystery,  and 
watched  Tom,  a  loose-framed,  yellow-haired  giant, 
creep  in  on  tiptoe  and  kneel  by  the  dresser.  "  I 
might  as  well  steel  my  heart  to  be  parted  from  them 
all,"  she  muttered,  leaning  her  head  on  her  arms. 
In  a  moment  she  added  a  fervent  voice  to  the 
response,  "  Holy  Mary,  mother  of  God,  pray  for 
us  sinners. 


CHAPTER   11 

HANNY  BLAKE'S  face  was  flushed  and  shining  as 
she  stood  before  the  looking-glass  in  the  kitchen 
and  pushed  a  stray  curl  into  place. 

"  What  o'clock  is  it  now  ? "  Mrs.  Blake  called 
out  anxiously  from  a  room  off  the  kitchen. 

"  It's  seven  by  the  clock,  so  it's  half-past  six 
at  least,"  Hanny  replied,  after  a  few  seconds  calcu- 
lation in  front  of  the  old,  uncased,  grandfather  clock 
hanging  from  the  wall  beside  the  dresser.  "  Every- 
thing is  near  done,  and  there's  oceans  of  time.  No 
one  is  likely  to  be  here  before  half-past  seven." 

"  Did  you  see  that  your  father  had  on  his  clean 
shirt  ? " 

«  I  did." 

"  I'm  just  getting  out  of  my  old  skirt,  and  I'll  be 
ready  to  meet  the  world  in  a  couple  of  minutes. 
Come  in  and  see  is  there  any  button  loose  behind 
on  me  ? " 

Hanny  stood  for  a  while  at  the  door,  admiring 
the  room  for  the  hundredth  time.  It  was  all  newly 
done  up.  Pink  tissue  paper  filled  the  small  grate. 
Blue  cornflowers  predominated  in  the  many-coloured 
wall-paper.  A  brilliant  patchwork  quilt  covered  the 
four-poster  bed  in  the  corner.  Bed-posts,  wooden 
chairs,  the  mantelpiece,  the  window  sill,  the  huge 
cupboard,  and  Mrs.  Blake's  wooden  chest,  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed,  were  all  freshly  painted  in  chocolate 


i4  WAITING 

red.  The  crochet  antimacassar  on  the  one  hair-cloth 
armchair,  the  curtains  on  bed  and  window  had  come 
spotless  from  a  recent  washing.  New  fibre  matting 
covered  the  earthen  floor.  Mrs.  Blake's  cast-off 
clothes,  strewn  around  her  on  the  matting,  were  alone 
out  of  place.  Hanny  picked  them  up  and  thrust 
them  into  the  trunk.  She  then  walked  all  round 
her  mother  and  nodded  approvingly. 

"  You  look  years  younger  in  them  clothes,"  she 
said,  tightening  a  hairpin.  "  Though  the  apron  is 
white  itself,  I'd  be  inclined  to  leave  it  off,"  she 
added,  examining  it  critically. 

"  I'd  be  lost  without  it  for  want  of  something 
to  do  with  my  hands,"  Mrs.  Blake  said,  looking 
round  the  room  carefully.  "  Everything  is  right 
here  as  far  as  I  can  see.  There's  the  chair  with  the 
cushion  on  it  for  Father  James  to  hear  on,  and  all 
the  things  for  the  room  breakfast  are  on  the  table 
there  in  the  corner.  Don't  forget  to  come  in  about 
the  last  gospel  and  pull  it  into  the  middle  of  the 
room,  and  lay  it  out  right.  Minnie  Reardon  might 
help  you." 

"  She  will.  I  asked  her  last  night ;  she  said 
she'd  be  glad  to  do  anything." 

"  She  did,  did  she  ?  I  suppose  she  thinks  any 
one  marrying  Tom'll  get  the  room.  But  sorra  foot 
Mike  and  me'll  budge  out  of  it  as  long  as  there's 
breath  in  our  bodies.  If  the  finest  lady  in  the  land 
came  into  the  house  she  must  put  up  with  the  big 
room  upstairs,  and  I'll  be  loth  to  disturb  Maurice 
out  of  that  too,  for  a  stranger.  Is  there  a  chair 
in  your  room  for  Father  Ned  to  hear  on  ? " 

"There  is." 

"  And  everything  else  ?  " 

Hanny   ticked   off   the   items   on    her   fingers. 


WAITING  15 

"  The  cows  are  milked  and  driven  out.  The 
horses  are  in  the  cow  stalls,  and  there's  a  feed 
of  oats  in  the  manger  in  the  stable  for  the  priests' 
horses." 

"  You  saw  to  that  with  your  own  eyes  ?  " 

"  I  did." 

"  I  wouldn't  trust  a  man  to  do  anything  right  on 
a  morning  like  this.  Any  trifle  of  sense  they  have 
leaves  them.  I'm  sure  your  father  forgot  to  put  a 
bundle  of  rushes  in  that  puddle  by  the  gate  ?  " 

"  He  did  it  near  an  hour  ago.  Besides,  it's 
near  dried  out  with  the  frost." 

Mrs.  Blake  looked  disappointed,  but  said  cheer- 
fully- 

"  It  promises  to  be  sunny,  and  it'll  get  wet  again 
soon.  Them  white  frosts  don't  last  long." 

They  went  into  the  kitchen,  where  Hanny  con- 
tinued to  tick  off  her  list. 

"  The  kitchen  breakfast  things  are  on  the  dresser, 
all  ready.  The  big  kettle  is  full  to  the  brim,  and 
on  the  top  crook,  well  out  of  the  reach  of  the  fire. 
The  eggs  are  in  the  skillet,  ready  to  be  put  on.  The 
beefsteak  is  in  the  pan  under  the  hob." 

"  Everything  is  going  too  smooth  to  last,"  Mrs. 
Blake  said  dolefully.  "  You  forgot  the  clean  bag 
for  the  priest's  feet  in  front  of  the  altar  when  he's 
saying  mass,"  she  added  sharply. 

"  I  didn't  then.  It's  there  rolled  up  so  as  not  to 
be  walked  on  by  the  throng  of  people.  I'll  spread 
it  out  after  Matsey  Boylan  lays  the  altar,"  Hanny 
said,  in  a  slightly  ruffled  tone. 

"  Don't  lose  heart,  Hanny,  agra,"  Mrs.  Blake 
said,  patting  her  daughter  on  the  shoulder.  "  I'm 
not  fault-finding.  Only  making  sure  that  we'll  get 
the  full  credit  out  of  all  our  slaving — and  a  credit 


1 6  WAITING 

to  us  it  is,  if  we  were  up  before  cock-crow  to-day 
itself." 

She  looked  around  the  kitchen  complacently,  at 
the  cheerful  turf  fire  on  the  hearth,  at  the  burnished, 
brass  candlesticks  on  the  ledge  over  the  settle.  She 
sighed  happily  as  she  took  a  Prayer-book  off  a  shelf, 
sat  on  a  creepy  and  said — 

"  I  might  be  able  to  say  a  few  prayers,  and 
prepare  for  confession  before  the  people  come. 
You'd  best  rest  your  limbs  too." 

Hanny  was  too  restless  to  sit  down.  She  took 
another  look  in  the  glass,  and  refixed  the  brooch  in 
the  lace  collar  which  she  wore  over  her  blouse.  As 
she  stood  at  the  door  the  red  sun  turned  to  gold  as 
it  rose  over  a  low  hill  in  the  distance.  The  bare 
elm  tree  at  the  end  of  the  bawn  seemed  to  hold  the 
sun  in  the  close  embrace  of  one  of  its  huge  branches, 
curved  like  an  arm.  It  reminded  her  somehow  of 
Jim  Reardon.  She  blushed,  and  fell  to  wondering 
if  he'd  admire  all  she  had  done  to  the  house  for  the 
last  week.  Would  she  ever  have  a  house  of  her 
own  to  paper,  and  whitewash  and  paint  ?  Jim 
Reardon  came  into  her  thoughts  again,  but  she 
said  a  "  Hail  Mary  "  to  put  him  away — he  was  too 
distracting.  With  a  deep  sigh  she  went  in  to  the 
kitchen,  knelt  by  the  settle  and  began  her  preparation 
for  confession. 

Mike  Blake  and  his  two  sons  lounged  by  the 
gate,  clad  in  their  best  clothes. 

"  We  were  turned  out  of  bed  hours  too  early," 
Mike  said  resentfully. 

"  It  was  the  most  wonderful  dawn  I  ever  saw," 
Maurice  said  dreamily  :  "  the  grey  pallor  of  a  corpse 
flushing  into  this."  He  waved  his  hand  towards 
the  elm  tree. 


WAITING  17 

Mike  yawned.  "  It's  the  promise  or  a  fine  day, 
sure  enough,  but  I  wish  I  wasn't  shook  out  of  the 
blankets  so  soon,  and  I  wanting  all  my  strength, 
too,  to  face  Father  James."  He  dragged  at  his  tight 
collar.  "  If  a  man  could  only  take  a  shough  of  a 
pipe  itself,  but  I'm  afeard  of  swallowing  the  smoke 
and  breaking  my  fast,  and  it'd  never  do  for  the 
head  of  the  house  not  to  lead  the  way  to  com- 
munion at  a  station  mass.  Look  down  the  road, 
Tom,  and  see  if  there's  any  signs  of  the  priests' 
coming." 

Tom  stepped  out  briskly,  fingering  his  tie, 
rubbing  back  his  shock  hair  at  the  sides,  and 
straightening  his  hat.  He  looked  up  the  road  first 
and  sighed. 

"  There's  no  sign  of  them,"  he  said  dejectedly, 
when  he  returned. 

"  Nor  of  the  Reardons  either,  I  suppose  ? " 
Maurice  said  dryly,  with  a  smile. 

"  No,"  Tom  said  shortly,  blushing  to  the  colour 
of  his  reddish-yellow  hair. 

"  You're  doing  great  work  about  the  place, 
Tom,"  Maurice  said. 

Tom  looked  pleased,  but  said  gruffly,  "  It's  only 
a  trifle." 

"  It's  a  tower  of  strength  you  are  to  the 
place " 

"  I  think  I'll  wait  within,"  Tom  said,  interrupting 
his  father. 

"  I'd  as  Kef  keep  out  of  the  reach  of  your  mother's 
tongue  when  she's  in  a  fuss,"  Mike  said,  his  eyes 
following  Tom's  retreating  figure.  "  He's  a  giant 
of  a  man  and  as  biddable  as  a  child — a  throw  back 
in  size  to  some  old  ancestor,  I  suppose,  for  he's  a 
head  above  his  mother  or  myself.  Not  but  he  has 

c 


1 8  WAITING 

the  obstinacy  of  a  jackass  when  he's  roused,  which 
is  seldom.  It's  the  way  with  all  them  quiet-going 
people.  He  mightn't  have  the  learning  of  you, 

Maurice,  but  he  has  a  powerful  grip  of  things " 

He  was  settling  himself  down  to  a  long  speech 
when  a  young  priest  drove  up  to  the  gate. 

"  You're  heartily  welcome,  Father  Ned,"  Mike 
said,  standing,  hat  in  hand,  at  the  side  of  the  trap, 
while  Maurice  stood  at  the  horse's  head. 

The  priest,  a  tall,  fair  man  in  glasses,  a  heavy 
frieze  coat  buttoned  to  his  chin,  jumped  down  and 
shook  Mike's  hand  warmly. 

"Don't  let  the  grass  grow  under  your  feet 
about  Bourneen  school,"  he  whispered  to  Maurice 
as  he  passed.  "  I  tried  to  pump  the  P.P.  last  night, 
but  he  was  a  dry  well." 

Mrs.  Blake,  Hanny  and  Tom  met  him  at  the 
door. 

"  God  bless  the  house,"  he  said  heartily. 
"And  you  too,  Father,"  they  said  in  one  voice. 
Before  he  had  taken  off  his  overcoat  half  a  dozen 
people  arrived.     He  chatted  pleasantly  with  them, 
holding  his  hands  towards  the  blaze. 

"  Won't  you  sit  down,  Father,  and  take  a  real 
heat  of  the  fire  ?  "  Mrs.  Blake  said,  pushing  a  chair 
towards  him. 

He  shook  his  head,  took  a  purple  stole  from  the 
pocket  of  his  soutane  and  put  it  round  his  neck. 

"  I'm  late  as  it  is,"  he  said,  with  a  regretful 
glance  at  the  fire.  "  I  must  try  and  hear  the  bulk 
of  the  people  before  Father  James  comes.  If  you 
show  me  where  I'm  to  sit,  I'll  start  at  once." 

She  led  the  way  to  Hanny's  small  bedroom 
off  the  kitchen,  to  the  back  of  "  the  room."  He 
sat  on  a  chair  inside  the  half-opened  door.  Mrs. 


WAITING  19 

Blake  knelt  on  the  clay  floor  and  began  her 
confession. 

"  The  curate  itself  stands  in  fear  of  the  big  man," 
a  woman  in  the  kitchen  whispered. 

"  Faith,  and  why  wouldn't  he  ?  'Tis  Father 
James  has  an  awesome  eye,"  her  neighbour  replied. 

A  thin  stream  of  people  now  began  to  arrive.  The 
queue,  opposite  the  room  in  which  Father  Malone 
was  hearing  confessions,  extended  in  an  irregular 
curve  to  the  back  door,  and  along  the  side-wall  as 
far  as  the  settle.  Most  of  the  women  wore  shawls 
over  their  heads  ;  a  few  were  in  hats  and  bonnets, 
and  a  few  in  long,  hooded  cloaks  of  dark-blue  pilot 
cloth.  Even  Hanny  donned  a  shawl  before  taking 
her  place  in  the  queue.  When  they  had  confessed, 
the  women  knelt  in  corners  or  around  the  fireplace, 
and  prayed  with  an  occasional  whisper  to  a  neigh- 
bour. "  'Tis  Father  Ned  is  easy  with  the  penance." 
u  He's  a  grand  man  entirely."  "  He  never  puts  the 
blush  on  your  face  with  an  awkward  question." 
The  men,  after  kneeling  for  a  few  minutes,  retired 
to  the  yard  in  front  of  the  house,  where  they  talked 
in  small  groups  in  hushed  tones.  Mrs.  Blake  flitted 
between  "  the  room  "  and  the  kitchen  fire,  making 
final  preparations.  She  counted  the  people  in  the 
kitchen  and  in  the  yard  and  whispered  to  Hanny — 

"  Do  you  miss  any  one  ?  " 

u  They're  all  here  except  the  Dilleens,  and  you 
can  count  on  three  of  them." 

"  Stand  you  by  the  door  and  give  me  word  when 
Father  James  appears,  so  that  I  can  be  outside  to  bid 
him  welcome." 

She  placed  the  Britannia  metal  teapot,  a  large  tin 
one,  and  two  made  of  brown  earthenware  on  the 
seat  within  the  fireplace. 


20  WAITING 

"  Keep  an  eye  on  them,  Mrs.  Donlon,"  she  said 
to  a  woman  kneeling  near,  "  and  don't  let  any  one 
knock  over  the  canister." 

"  Here's  Father  James  now,  mother.  He's  just 
getting  down  at  the  gate,"  Hanny  said  in  a  loud, 
excited  whisper. 

There  was  a  general  movement  throughout  the 
kitchen.  The  muttering  of  prayer  in  the  corners 
ceased.  All  stood  up. 

"  Keep  the  passage  to  the  room  clear,  and  to  the 
fire,  too.  He  might  like  a  heat  of  it  before  he  begins 
to  hear,"  Mrs.  Blake  said,  rushing  towards  the  door. 

''Let  me  in  before  you,  Bessy,"  a  girl  said 
eagerly  to  another  in  front  of  her  in  Father  Malone's 
queue.  "  1  must  get  heard  before  Father  Ned  stops. 
I  never  could  face  Father  James.  Sure  you  have 
nothing  to  tell." 

"Little  or  more,  I'm  not  going  to  tell  it  to 
Father  James.  The  place  I  have  I'll  keep." 

Mrs.  Blake  and  Hanny  stood  on  the  doorstep. 
The  men  in  the  yard  held  their  hats  in  their  hands. 
Mike  Blake  stretched  an  arm  over  the  wheel  of 
Father  Mahon's  trap  to  save  his  greatcoat.  Tom 
patted  the  horse's  head,  while  Maurice  fidgeted 
uneasily  in  the  background. 

Still  sitting  in  the  trap  Father  Mahon  unwound 
a  long,  black,  woollen  muffler  which  swathed  his 
neck  and  the  lower  part  of  his  face. 

"Hang  that  near  the  fire.  It  might  be  damp 
from  the  touch  of  frost  on  my  breath,"  he  said, 
handing  the  muffler  to  Mike. 

"  Sure  I  will,  your  reverence." 
"  Rub    the    mare   down    well,    and    cover    her. 
Don't  give  her  more  than  a  lock  of  oats,  only  let  it 
be  good." 


WAITING  21 

"  I'll  see  to  that,  sir,"  Tom  said  stiffly. 

A  slight  look  of  suspicion  passed  over  the  priest's 
steel  grey  eyes,  but  he  laughed.  It  was  an  un- 
smiling laugh  that  came  in  a  harsh  cackle  from  the 
back  of  his  throat,  and  had  a  varied  effect  on  those 
who  heard  it.  Tom  twitched  at  the  reins,  and,  with 
a  sour  look  on  his  usually  pleasant  face,  said,  "  Dang 
you,"  to  the  mare.  Matsey  Boylan,  the  clerk, 
who  was  fumbling  with  the  station-box  at  the  back 
of  the  trap,  grasped  the  box  nervously  and  slunk  away 
towards  the  house.  Mike  attempted  a  sickly  smile, 
but  there  was  no  responsive  laugh  from  any  one. 

Father  Mahon  frowned  on  Tom  ;  who  said 
cheerfully,  "  I'm  afraid  I  pulled  her  mouth,  your 
reverence." 

The  frown  persisted  as  he  descended  from  the 
trap  with  dignity.  It  was  more  pleasant  than  his 
laugh  and  seemed  to  put  Mike  at  his  ease. 

"You're  looking  grand,  your  reverence,"  he 
said  admiringly. 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,"  the  priest  said, 
drawing  himself  up. 

He  was  an  imposing  man  of  about  six  feet 
two,  and  held  his  square  shoulders  well  back.  He 
carried  himself  so  well  that  one  hardly  noticed 
the  curvature  in  the  front  of  his  overcoat  where 
the  middle  buttons  were  somewhat  strained.  In 
occasional  moments  of  repose  his  face  looked  hand- 
some. His  chin  was  strong,  his  nose  well  formed  ; 
the  blue  black  of  his  skin,  where  he  shaved,  went 
well  with  his  rather  heavy,  black  eyebrows  and  thick, 
black  hair  flecked  with  grey.  But  he  had  a  habit 
of  protruding  his  under-lip  and  contracting  his 
forehead  and  eyebrows  that  took  away  somewhat 
from  his  good  looks. 


22  WAITING 

He  threw  a  keen  look  at  Maurice,  said  "  How 
are  you  ? "  but  did  not  wait  for  a  reply.  He  looked 
over  the  wall  of  the  kitchen  garden  on  his  left 
and  said,  "  Humph  !  "  as  his  eyes  rested  on  some 
flower  beds. 

"They're  Hanny's,"  Mike  said.  "Tom  gives 
her  a  hand  at  them  an  odd  time." 

Mrs.  Blake  was  already  curtseying  at  the  door  ; 
but  Father  James,  after  waving  his  hand  carelessly 
to  a  few  men  in  the  yard  who  greeted  him,  stood 
inspecting  the  house,  his  eyes  passing  through  and 
over  her  without  recognition. 

"You're  getting  up  in  the  world  every  year, 
Mike,"  he  said. 

"  God  is  fairly  good  to  us,"  Mike  said  cautiously. 
"  I  don't  hold  myself  with  whitewashing  to  that 
extent.  And  them  window  boxes  are  only  throwing 
away  money.  It  cost  a  power,  too,  to  move  the 
manure  heap  out  of  the  bawn,  and  shut  up  the 
doors  of  the  stable  and  cowhouse  on  this  side, 
and  make  new  doors  into  the  new  yard  at  the 
back." 

"  Humph  !  "  Father  James  said,  walking  on. 

Mrs.  Blake  curtseyed  again,  saying,  "You're 
welcome,  Father." 

"Well,  Mrs.  Blake,"  he  said,  shaking  hands 
with  a  preoccupied  air,  "  how  is  all  your  care  ?  " 

"  Finely,  your  reverence,  and  thank  you  kindly," 
she  said,  following  at  his  heels.  "There's  a  nip  of 
frost  in  the  air.  Won't  you  take  a  heat  of  the 
fire  ?  " 

He  made  no  reply  to  this.  He  nodded  and 
waved  his  right  hand  in  a  blessing  to  those  who 
bowed  and  curtseyed  in  the  kitchen,  as  he  walked 
into  the  room. 


WAITING  23 

"  For  God  sake  let  some  one  go  in  to  him  ? 
He'll  be  vexed  to  be  kept  waiting,"  Mrs.  Blake  said 
anxiously. 

"  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  go  in,"  Mike  said  with 
a  sigh,  laying  his  hat  on  the  floor. 

"  'Tis  Mike  has  the  bold  spirit,"  a  woman  said 
admiringly. 

"  Sure  if  the  man  of  the  house  wouldn't  give 
the  good  example,  who  would  ?  "  another  said. 

"  Himself  isn't  in  the  best  of  tempers  to-day," 
Mrs.  Blake  said  to  Matsey  Boylan,  busy  over  the 
station-box,  jerking  her  thumb  towards  the  room 
door. 

"  If  it's  Mike  you  mean,  I  see  no  loss  on  him  ; 
if  it's  the  priest  you  mean,  he's  as  cross  as  two  sticks," 
Matsey  said,  lifting  the  collapsible  station-box  on  to 
the  kitchen  table,  and  giving  his  attention  to  the 
arrangement  of  the  temporary  altar. 

"  Put  a  splinter  of  wood,  one  of  ye,  under  that 
front  leg  of  the  table  to  steady  it,"  he  said.  "  That'll 
do  now.  Let  ye  keep  back,"  he  added  to  several 
willing  helpers,  "  and  don't  ye  put  a  finger  near  any 
of  the  blessed  things,  the  chalice  or  the  altar  stone 
or  the  like,  or  maybe  ye'd  find  yourselves  turned 
into  a  beast  or  something  worse." 

"  Glory  be  to  God,"  an  old  woman  said,  "  and 
it's  gospel  truth,  for  I  often  heard  it  said  in  my 
young  days." 

Mrs.  Blake  was  busy  dragging  people  from  the 
end  of  Father  Ned  Malone's  queue  and  pushing 
them  forcibly  through  "  the  room  "  door  to  confess 
to  Father  Mahon.  She  soon  tired  of  this  and  spoke 
generally — 

"  Ye  might  as  well  go  first  as  last.  The  more 
of  ye  that  go  to  him  the  better  chance  there'll  be 


24  WAITING 

for  the  rest  of  ye  to  be  heard  by  the  young  priest. 
For  if  ye  leave  long  gaps  Father  James'll  think 
ye're  all  done,  and  give  orders  to  Father  Ned  to 
begin  the  mass.  And  where'll  ye  be  then  ?  Ye'll 
have  to  go  to  Father  Mahon  whether  ye  like  it 
or  no." 

"There's  something  in  what  you  say,  Mrs. 
Blake,  but  I  don't  see  how  'twould  benefit  me," 
a  woman  said  doubtfully,  making  an  effort  to  resist 
Mrs.  Blake's  pull  on  her  arm.  "  I  don't  like  to  be 
disrespectful  to  the  woman  of  the  house,  but  you 
took  good  care,  ma'am,  to  make  your  soul  yourself 
with  the  young  curate." 

"  Is  the  altar  ready  ?  "  Father  Mahon  called  out 
from  the  room. 

"  It  is,  your  reverence.  I'm  just  lighting  the 
candles,"  Matsey  said. 

"Then  ring  the  bell  and  tell  Father  Malone  to 
begin  mass.  I'll  hear  the  few  that  are  over." 

"  Let  me  in  first,  Matsey,  and  I'll  not  forget  it 
to  you,"  whispered  the  man  nearest  Father  Malone's 
door  as  Matsey  approached. 

"  It'd  be  as  much  as  my  place  is  worth,  if  him- 
self came  to  know  of  it,"  Matsey  said,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation  ;  "  and  he  has  eyes  in  the  back 
of  his  head." 

There  was  a  general  sigh  from  the  penitents 
as  they  crossed  over  reluctantly  to  Father  Mahon's 
door. 

While  Father  Malone  was  praying  in  front  of 
the  altar,  Matsey  rang  a  small  bell  at  the  kitchen 
door.  The  little  groups  in  the  yard  broke  up  and 
the  men  entered  the  house.  The  large  kitchen  was 
soon  packed,  an  overflow  extending  into  Hanny's 
bedroom.  Mrs.  Blake  lowered  the  kettle  nearer 


WAITING  25 

to  the  flame,  drew  the  pot  of  eggs  close  to  the  fire 
and  ladled  tea  into  the  teapots. 

Before  putting  on  his  chasuble  Father  Malone 
sprinkled  the  little  congregation  with  holy  water. 
All  stood  up  to  receive  it.  For  a  moment  there 
was  a  re-shifting  of  places.  Hanny  knelt  near  the 
room  door.  Mrs.  Blake  beckoned  to  Maurice  and 
whispered  — 

"  I'll  keep  handy  to  the  fire  myself  to  lift  on  the 
things  when  the  time  comes.  Keep  convenient  to 
the  front  door  you.  Though  you  shut  the  half- 
door  itself,  them  hens  have  a  way  of  jumping  up  on 
it  when  they're  least  wanted.  Hoosh  them  off  the 
minute  you  catch  sight  of  one,  or  they'll  be  drowning 
the  voice  of  the  priest  and  Matsey." 

Maurice  knelt  in  the  corner  between  the  dresser 
and  the  door.  Not  even  the  warm  clasp  of  old 
Master  Driscoll's  hand,  nor  his  assurance,  "  he 
must  give  it  to  you — the  whole  parish  would  rise 
against  him  if  he  didn't,"  had  driven  away  the 
feeling  of  depression  evoked  in  him  by  Father 
Mahon's  manner.  He  had  missed  going  to  con- 
fession to  Father  Malone.  He  watched  the  people 
go  in  and  out  of  the  room  in  which  Father  Mahon 
was  still  hearing,  and  half  got  up  off  his  knees. 
He  dropped  back  again.  It  would  be  a  mockery 
with  the  feelings  he  had  towards  the  priest.  He 
heard  the  priest's  voice  raised  in  anger  addressing 
some  penitent,  and  felt  still  more  bitter.  Stories  he 
had  heard  from  his  youth  up  of  Father  Mahon's 
tyranny  came  into  his  mind  ;  and  stories  of  other 
priests  heard  from  students  in  the  Training  College. 
How  could  he  take  a  school  from  him  ?  A  longing 
to  get  away  from  Bourneen  came  over  him.  A  hen 
fluttered  on  to  the  half-door.  He  hooshed  it  away 


26  WAITING 

with  a  smile,  and  smiled  again  at  a  ridiculous  mis- 
pronunciation of  a  Latin  phrase  in  Matsey's  stentorian 
voice.  He  looked  towards  the  altar.  Father 
Malone's  eyes  were  fixed  with  an  absorbed  look  on 
the  missal  from  which  he  was  reading  the  Sanctus. 
Was  it  the  effect  of  his  glasses,  or  some  trick  of  the 
sunlight  streaming  through  the  window  and  lighting 
up  the  priest's  face,  that  so  transformed  his  common- 
place features  ?  An  indescribable  quality  was  in  his 
voice  too,  as  if  he  saw  and  felt  and  tried  to  put  into 
words  some  vision  that  made  him  transcendently 
happy. 

Matsey  tinkled  the  bell  at  the  end  of  the  Sanctus 
and  the  spell  was  broken.  Father  Mahon  blew  his 
nose  loudly  in  the  room.  Father  Malone  read  the 
canon  silently.  The  congregation  coughed  and 
shuffled.  A  voice  said  impatiently,  "Don't  be 
scrooging  me,  will  you  ?  "  The  bell  tinkled  again 
to  announce  the  consecration.  There  was  a  drawing 
in  of  breath  and  a  bending  of  heads.  The  priest's 
voice,  hardly  raised  above  his  breath,  filled  the  whole 
kitchen.  The  kettle  sang  on  the  hearth,  the  clock 
ticked  loudly,  a  cock  crowed  in  the  yard.  But 
these  sounds  only  made  the  silence  deeper.  The 
sun  danced,  as  if  in  joy,  on  the  brass  candlesticks 
over  the  settle,  on  the  tin  basin  that  hung  by  the 
back  door,  and  glittered  through  the  white  hair 
of  an  old  man  bending  forward  over  the  stick  with 
which  he  supported  his  shaking  body.  The  priest's 
voice  seemed  to  have  gathered  to  itself  all  the  pent- 
up  emotion  of  the  congregation  as  he  spoke  the 
words  of  consecration,  and,  for  a  moment,  Maurice 
had  the  feeling  of  infinite  peace  and  harmony  that 
he  felt,  earlier  in  the  morning,  when  the  first  saffron 
tints  of  the  sky  in  the  east  flushed  into  pink. 


WAITING  27 

At  the  last  tinkle  of  the  bell  the  whole  congrega- 
tion breathed  a  deep  sigh  in  unison,  and  the  coughing 
and  shuffling  began  anew.  As  he  held  back  from 
communion  Maurice  felt  that  he  had  missed  much, 
and  regretted  that  he  had  not  gone  to  confession, 
even  to  Father  Mahon  of  whom  he  now  thought 
more  gently. 

At  the  last  gospel  Mrs.  Blake  elbowed  her  way 
towards  Hanny. 

"  Why  aren't  you  laying  the  table  ? "  she  said 
impatiently. 

"  He's  walking  about  the  room,  and  Minnie 
and  myself  were  afraid  to  venture  it." 

"  You  haven't  the  spunk  of  a  cat.  Go  up  and 
wet  the  tea  you,  and  I'll  do  it." 

As  Father  Malone  was  taking  off  his  vest- 
ments, Father  Mahon  stood  in  front  of  the  altar, 
facing  the  people,  and  spoke  what  he  called  a  few 
words  in  season.  He  gave  a  vivid  picture  of  hell, 
of  its  many  torments,  especially  of  its  heat,  which 
was  so  great  that  if  all  the  oceans,  seas,  rivers  and 
lakes  of  the  world  were  poured  into  hell  they  would 
dry  up  in  a  moment,  quicker  than  a  spit  in  a 
limekiln.  He  was  in  the  middle  of  an  illustration 
in  which  a  little  boy  in  torn  breeches  was  sliding 
down  a  red-hot  banister,  when  the  frizzling  and 
odour  of  beefsteak  filled  the  room. 

"  Bedad,  I  can  smell  the  gossoon  burning,"  some 
one  whispered. 

There  was  a  smothered  laugh.  Father  Mahon 
frowned  and  paused. 

"  If  he  starts  again  the  tea'll  be  as  black  as 
senna,"  came  from  near  the  fire. 

There  was  a  loud  clatter  of  crockery  from  the 
room. 


28  WAITING 

"  It's  impossible  for  a  preacher  to  collect  his 
thoughts  in  such  a  pandemonium.  I'll  take  the 
dues  now,"  Father  Mahon  said  crossly,  opening  a 
black  note-book  which  he  had  been  fingering  while 
he  was  preaching. 

"  Mike  Blake,"  he  called  out. 
Mike  laid  a  half-sovereign  and  a  half-crown  on 
the  table  which,  by  Matsey  Boylan's  efforts  while 
Father  Mahon  was  preaching,  had  ceased  to  be  an 
altar. 

"  For  the  mass  ;  for  the  dues,"  Mike  said,  as 
he  laid  down  each  coin  separately. 

"  It's  an  improvement ;  but  not  enough,  not 
enough,"  the  priest  said,  protruding  his  under  lip. 
"  A  man  of  your  substance  too,  and  your  land  your 
own  now." 

"  And  what  would  you  be  cessing  me  at,  your 
reverence  ? "  Mike  said,  scratching  his  grizzled 
head. 

"  Make  it  the  even  pound,"  the  priest  said, 
wetting  the  point  of  his  pencil. 

"  Bedad,  that's  new  doctrine,  your  reverence, 
and  I  paying  high  at  the  Christmas  and  Easter 
collections." 

"  There's  no  compulsion,"  the  priest  said  laugh- 
ing, showing  his  regular,  yellow  teeth. 

"  What  are  you  up  to,  Mike  ?  bandying  words 
with  the  priest,  and  in  your  own  house  too," 
Mrs.  Blake  said  agitatedly,  a  teapot  in  her  hand. 
"  He's  got  into  that  habit  of  arguing  with  me,  your 
reverence,  over  every  trifle,  'tis  no  wonder  he'd 
forget  himself  when  he's  talking  to  his  betters. 
And  the  priest  of  the  parish,  too  !  For  shame, 
Mike  1  " 

Mike   drew  a  dirty   linen    bag  from  an  inside 


WAITING  29 

pocket  of  his  waistcoat,  and  reluctantly  undid  the 
string.  He  laid  another  half-sovereign  on  the 
table,  and  was  taking  back  the  half-crown  when 
Mrs.  Blake  pulled  away  his  hand. 

"Is  it  take  back  money  you  would,  once  you 
laid  it  on  the  altar  of  God  ?  You're  no  better  than 
a  heathen  savage.  He's  only  an  ignorant  man  at 
the  best,  your  reverence." 

"  God  will  bless  the  cheerful  giver,"  Father 
James  said  sententiously.  "  You  all  know  how  it 
grieves  me  to  speak  about  money.  All  I  shall  say 
is  that  I  hope  Mike  Blake's  generosity  will  prove  a 
good  example  to  others." 

"  I  never  heard  him  yet  that  there  wasn't  a  silver 
tail  to  his  sermon,"  Larry  Reardon  muttered  to  his 
wife,  in  the  background.  "  'Twas  a  dirty  trick 
Mike  Blake  played  on  the  whole  of  us,  giving  such 
a  lead  as  that  so  readily." 

"  I  wouldn't  be  too  hard  on  the  poor  people. 
It's  easy  seen  they're  making  up  to  him  because 
of  Maurice,"  his  wife  whispered.  "  We'll  have  to 
rise  a  little  I  doubt,  but  I'd  take  no  pattern  from 
Mike  Blake.  On  account  of  the  purchase  of  the 
land,  and  the  whole  world  knows  we  got  it  cheap, 
I  wouldn't  grudge  him  a  couple  of  shillings. 
But  as  for  gold  !  I'd  see  him  in  heaven  first,  the 
Lord  forgive  me.  There's  many  a  place  the 
station  dues  is  only  a  shilling,  and  he's  bent  on 
making  'em  equal  to  Christmas  and  Easter.  You 
haven't  the  character  of  a  mouse,  Larry,  unless 
you  put  down  your  foot  upon  it,"  she  added 
vehemently. 

"  Whist,  woman.  It's  easier  said  than  done  ; 
not  but  I'll  put  up  a  strong  fight,"  Larry  said,  with 
doubtful  firmness. 


30  WAITING 

While  Father  James  haggled  with  each  con- 
tributor, Mike  Blake  stood  by  the  front  door  with 
hospitable  intent.  Custom  made  the  house  free  to 
all  for  mass,  but  breakfast  was  a  matter  of  private 
hospitality.  Custom  also  dictated  that  after  payment 
of  the  dues  all  strangers  should  make  an  effort  to 
leave.  Mike  intercepted  them  at  the  door. 

"  Sorra  foot  any  one'll  leave  the  house  without 
breakfast.  Don't  be  slipping  away  there,  Mrs. 
Hinnissey,"  he  said,  embracing  a  fat  woman  who 
got  wedged  in  the  doorway  in  an  attempt  to  get 
out. 

"With  all  the  throng  you  have,  I  thought  I'd 
better  be  making  myself  scarce." 

"There's  lashings  for  all,  and  besides  the  wife'd 
never  forgive  you  for  leaving  her  in  the  lurch 
like  that." 

"  Faith,  I  wouldn't  be  offending  her  for  the 
whole  world,"  Mrs.  Hinnissey  said,  going  back 
cheerfully. 

"  I  am  surprised  at  you  trying  to  leave  without 
breaking  your  fast,  Teigue  Donlon." 

"  Mightn't  I  be  let  have  a  draw  of  the  pipe  in 
the  yard  itself  ?  " 

Mike  looked  out.  "  You  might  then.  Tom  is 
at  his  post  by  the  gate,  so  there's  no  danger  of  you 
slipping  away.  I'd  like  a  few  draws  myself,  but  I 
must  do  my  duty  here,"  with  a  sigh. 

Mrs.  Blake  kept  up  a  constant  march  between 
the  room  and  the  kitchen  fire.  She  chafed  at  the 
delay  over  the  collection,  complained  that  the  eggs 
would  be  as  hard  as  bullets  :  a  hard  case  for  her, 
she  explained,  as  it  was  her  pride  on  a  station  day 
to  have  the  milk  running  out  of  the  tops.  The 
steak,  too,  was  done  to  thraneens  and  would  be 


WAITING  31 

as  tough  as  leather,  a  sore  trial  for  Father  Mahon's 
teeth  to  get  through.  It  was  all  to  the  good,  of 
course,  to  have  the  room  table  laid,  but  how  was  a 
woman  to  have  any  peace  till  the  kitchen  table  was 
ready  ?  and  that  couldn't  be  touched  till  the  money 
was  cleared  off  it.  She  put  fresh  coals  under  the 
teapots,  ranged  in  a  semicircle  round  the  hearth,  and 
ordered  Minnie  Reardon  to  keep  on  cutting  bread 
and  butter,  nice  and  thick,  while  she  had  any  strength 
left  in  her  arm.  She  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  when 
Father  Mahon  closed  the  station  book  with — 

"  It's  not  too  bad,  but  it  ought  to  be  better, 
much  better." 

"  Won't  you  take  the  head  of  the  table  in  the 
room  now,  your  reverence  ?  Sure  you  must  be 
starved  to  death,"  she  said,  curtseying. 

He  assented  graciously,  almost  with  a  smile. 
"  There's  no  use  in  leaving  this  money  to  Mike — 
he  has  too  much  as  it  is,"  he  said  jocosely,  gathering 
up  the  coins  and  stuffing  them  into  his  trousers' 
pockets. 

When  the  priest  left  the  kitchen  Hanny  spread 
a  cloth  on  the  kitchen  table,  which  was  soon  covered 
with  dishes  of  bread  and  butter,  currant  cake,  eggs, 
and  a  varied  assortment  of  crockery.  There  was 
much  disputing  as  to  who  should  sit  at  the  kitchen 
table  or  in  the  room  with  the  priests.  It  needed  much 
persuasion  and  some  pushing  on  the  part  of  Mrs. 
Blake  to  induce  her  guests  to  take  the  more  honour- 
able position.  One  said  that  the  big  man  paralysed 
his  tongue  ;  another,  that  he  could  eat  more  free  if 
the  eyes  of  the  clergy  wasn't  on  him.  Matsey 
Boylan  said  that  by  rights  the  clerk  of  the  parish 
should  sit  with  the  clergy — it  was  the  way  in  old 
ancient  days  ;  but  in  these  days  the  clerk  had  come 


32  WAITING 

down  in  the  world,  and  only  for  the  drop  of  wine 
that  was  always  left  when  Father  M alone  said  mass, 
he'd  have  no  heart  in  him  for  his  breakfast  at  all. 

"  Is  it  a  fine  young  man  like  you,  and  all  the 
girls  running  after  you,  Matsey  ?  "  Mrs.  Hinnissey 
said. 

"  They  are  that.  But  what's  the  use,  when  my 
mother  won't  let  me  have  one  of  them  ?"  he  said 
dismally.  "  I'll  be  fifty-three  come  Martinmas,  but 
she  says  she'd  take  the  stick  to  me  if  ever  I  thought 
of  bringing  one  of  'em  in  on  the  floor  to  her."  Tears 
filled  his  weak,  rheumy  eyes  and  his  jaw  dropped. 

"  And  who  is  she  now  ?  "  Mrs.  Hinnissey  said 
encouragingly. 

Matsey's  eyes  brightened  and  he  pushed  a  wisp 
of  grey  hair  over  his  bald  forehead. 

"  Well,  last  week  it  was  Ellen  Davey  ;  but  I  was 
greatly  taken  by  a  likely  girl  of  the  Dwyers'  at  the 
station  we  were  at  yesterday.  But,  begob,  if  either 
Miss  Hanny  there  or  Miss  Reardon  would  only  say 
the  word,  I'd  risk  my  mother  and  the  stick,"  he 
said  valiantly,  though  his  wizened  face  blanched  a 
little. 

"It's  a  pity  I'm  not  a  widow  woman,"  Mrs. 
Hinnissey  said  with  a  sigh.  "  If  I  could  only  get 
rid  of  Jack  you  might  cast  an  eye  on  me,  Matsey  ?  " 

Matsey  looked  at  her  critically. 

"  There's  no  denying  you're  fine  and  fat  and 
comfortable  looking " 

"I'm  the  best  of  fat  pork,"  Mrs.  Hinnissey 
shouted,  laughing  boisterously. 

"  Come  away  into  the  room  out  of  that,  Mrs. 
Hinnissey,"  Mrs.  Blake  interrupted,  "  and  try  and 
raise  a  laugh  there.  A  funeral  is  nothing  to  it  for 
solemn  seriousness.  And  you,  too,  Mrs.  Reardon, 


WAITING  33 

there's  a  place  next  Father  James  for  you.  And 
who  has  a  better  right  to  sit  forenint  her  own  tea- 
pot?" 

"  There's  no  denying  the  woman  of  the  house," 
Mrs.  Hinnissey  said,  making  a  wry  face,  "  even  if  it 
loses  me  my  chances  of  Matsey  itself." 

"  Make  your  mind  easy,  ma'am,"  Matsey  said 
graciously,  "  I  think  I'll  stick  to  the  young  ones — 
they're  more  suited  to  my  sprightly  youth.  Maybe 
before  I'm  done  eating  I  might  make  up  my  mind 
which  of  them  I'll  have — since  I  can't  have  'em 
both,"  he  added  with  a  sigh. 

With  the  coming  of  Mrs.  Reardon  and  Mrs. 
Hinnissey  the  table  in  the  room  was  full.  Father 
Mahon  sat  at  the  head  with  Father  Malone  on 
his  right  and  Mrs.  Reardon  on  his  left.  The  old 
schoolmaster  sat  beside  Mrs.  Reardon,  and  Mrs. 
Hinnissey  next  Father  Malone.  Mike  Blake, 
Maurice,  Larry  Reardon,  Teigue  Donlon  and  Jack 
Hinnissey  completed  the  select  party. 

"  Why  don't  you  take  a  seat  yourself,  Mrs. 
Blake  ?  "  old  Driscoll  said.  "  You  must  have  been 
on  your  feet  all  the  morning." 

"  And  who'd  look  after  every  one  if  I  did  ? 
Besides,  sure  the  excitement  is  eating  and  drinking 
to  me.  Is  your  steak  all  right,  Father  James  ?  " 

"  Excellent,  thanks,  excellent.  Do  sit  down, 
Mrs.  Blake." 

"  Troth,  if  I  had  the  time  itself,  your  reverence, 
there  isn't  the  place.  The  kitchen  table  is  crammed 
full,  but  through  the  dint  of  turning  the  settle  into 
a  table,  all  the  men  are  seated  now,  thanks  be  to 
God.  There's  a  relay  of  women  to  come.  But 
sure  they  can  hold  out  longer  than  the  men.  They 
wouldn't  be  worth  much  if  they  couldn't  do  that." 

D 


34  WAITING 

t(They  won't  starve  with  all  the  food  they're 
carrying  about  between  their  hands,"  Mike  Blake 
said  gloomily. 

Mrs.  Blake  frowned.  "  Would  you  grudge 
them,  Mike,  the  bite  or  the  sup  they  can  have 
between  times,  and  all  the  fetching  and  carrying 
they're  doing  for  ye  ?  Try  and  swallow  that  turkey's 
egg,  Father  Ned.  I  boiled  it  special  for  you,  knowing 
you  were  a  citizen.  It's  more  delicate  within  than 
a  hen's  egg,  for  a  townsman  like  you.  Mike  there 
has  a  weakness  for  a  duck's  egg,  but  sure  he  has  the 
stomach  of  a  horse.  Don't  be  trenching  on  the  priest's 
lump  sugar,"  she  said  in  a  fierce  whisper  to  Mike. 
"  Isn't  there  plenty  of  soft  sugar  at  your  elbow  ?  " 

Father  James  munched  steadily  at  the  beefsteak 
without  once  laying  down  his  knife  and  fork. 
Father  Ned  fiddled  with  the  turkey  egg,  and 
replaced  it  by  a  hen  egg  when  Mrs.  Blake's  back 
was  turned. 

"  I'll  eat  it  and  put  the  shell  back  on  your  plate, 
and  she'll  never  know  the  differ,"  Mrs.  Hinnissey 
said  obligingly. 

"  Won't  you  have  more  tea  ?  "  Father  Ned  said, 
holding  up  the  best  teapot. 

"  Is  it  out  of  the  priest's  teapot  ?  The  Lord 
love  you,  Mrs.  Blake'd  never  forgive  me  if  she 
thought  I  did  that.  I'll  wait  till  Bessy  Reilly  gets 
round  with  the  tin  one." 

Even  Mrs.  Reardon,  though  she  eyed  her  teapot 
enviously,  did  not  dare  to  help  herself  from  it.  She 
was  somewhat  compensated  by  Mrs.  Blake's  whisper, 
"  It's  shining  like  a  blaze  of  glory." 

Mrs.  Blake's  willing  helpers  were  kept  busy 
filling  cups,  held  out  to  intercept  the  passing  teapots, 
and  serving  bread  and  butter,  eggs,  and  cake. 


WAITING  35 

u  I  had  four,  and  that's  not  a  bad  morning's  work 
for  a  man,"  Jack  Hinnissey  said,  refusing  a  fifth 
egg.  "  I  hear,  master,  that  you're  thinking  of 
giving  up  Bourneen,"  he  added,  addressing  Driscoll 
from  the  end  of  the  table. 

Father  Mahon,  who  had  finished  with  the  steak 
and  was  just  starting  on  an  egg,  frowned. 

Driscoll  glanced  at  him.  "  I'm  thinking  of  it. 
Yes,  I'm  thinking  of  it,"  he  answered,  with  another 
look  at  Father  Mahon's  lowered  eyes. 

"  Faith,  it's  sorry  I  am  that  you  won't  be  in  it  to 
belt  my  own  children  like  you  ought  to  have  belted 
me,"  Hinnissey  said  heartily. 

"  Troth,  if  he  gave  you  your  due,  his  arm,  God 
bless  it,  would  be  sore  from  trying  to  knock  the 
devil  out  of  you,  Jack,"  Teigue  Donlon  said  with  a 
grin. 

"  It's  the  pity  of  the  world  you  didn't  banish 
the  old  boy  out  of  him  when  you're  hand  was  in, 
master,"  Mrs.  Hinnissey  said,  beaming. 

Driscoll  chuckled.  "  I  left  that  for  you,  ma'am," 
he  said  quietly. 

"  Is  there  any  talk  of  who  is  to  come  after  you  ?  " 
Larry  Reardon,  with  a  side  glance  at  Father  Mahon, 
said  to  Driscoll. 

"  I  dare  say  there  is.  It's  his  reverence  that 
knows  that." 

"  Now's  your  time,  Mike,  to  put  in  a  word  for 
Maurice,"  Mrs.  Blake  whispered  under  cover  of  a 
bowl  of  eggs. 

"Whist,  woman,  can't  you  see  his  eye  on 
you  ? " 

Father  Mahon  took  out  his  handkerchief  and 
wiped  the  remains  of  an  egg  off  his  mouth. 

"  I   never  discuss  secular   business  at  a  station 


36  WAITING 

house.     This  is  a  place  for  religion  only,"  he  said, 
rising  abruptly. 

"  After  all  my  trouble,  too  ! "  Mrs.  Blake 
murmured  wearily. 

She  revived  somewhat  when  Father  Mahon  said, 
in  bidding  her  good-bye — 

"  Your  son  Maurice  is  growing  into  a  fine  man." 

"  He  as  much  as  gave  me  a  hint  that  it  would  be 
all  right,"  she  whispered  excitedly  to  Mike,  while 
the  priest  was  being  helped  into  his  overcoat. 

"  I  heard  the  remark,"  Mike  said  stolidly. 
"  You'll  be  reading  a  tune  into  an  ass's  bray  next." 

"  There  isn't  much  cuteness  in  you  after  all, 
Mike.  Take  my  word  that  you'll  find  him  ready 
for  you  if  you  run  out  with  him  now  and  broach  the 
matter  while  Tom  is  tackling  the  mare." 

For  five  minutes  Father  Mahon  and  Mike 
paced  the  road  in  front  of  the  gate.  The  priest 
said  nothing.  Mike  made  two  isolated  remarks — 
"The  harvest  was  very  fine,  thanks  be  to  God," 
and  "  It's  a  hot  day  for  this  time  of  year."  It  was 
only  when  the  priest's  trap  was  halfway  across  the 
bawn  that  Mike  said  diffidently. 

"  Bourneen  school,  your  reverence — my  son, 
Maurice." 

"A  fine  young  man,"  Father  Mahon  said. 

"  He'd  like  to  get  the  school,  your  reverence." 

The  priest  frowned  thoughtfully.  "That's  a 
horse  of  another  colour,"  he  said.  "  I'm  not  against 
him,  mind  you,  Mike — not  by  any  means.  But  it 
needs  thinking  over  and  talking  over.  It's  a  great 
responsibility  I  have  in  a  matter  of  the  kind,  to  the 
children  of  the  parish,  and  to  the  government,  and, 
last  but  not  least,  to  the  Church  of  God.  Come  up 
to-morrow  night  after  dark  and  we'll  help  one 


WAITING  37 

another  to  shed  a  light  on  it.  I  make  no  promise, 
but  I've  an  open  mind.  I  can  tell  you  that  much." 

"  Well  ?  "  Mrs.  Blake  said  eagerly  when  Mike 
returned. 

"  I'm  seeing  him  to-morrow  night  about  it," 
Mike  said  doubtfully.  "  Anyway,  he  was  more  civil 
than  ever  I  seen  him  before." 

"  I  knew  there  was  great  virtue  in  a  beefsteak," 
Mrs.  Blake  said  joyfully. 


CHAPTER   III 

AT  half-past  three  in  the  afternoon  of  the  day 
following  the  station  at  Mike  Blake's,  Father  James 
Mahon  leant  over  the  iron  gate  of  the  narrow  garden 
that  separated  his  house  from  the  main  road  lead- 
ing from  the  village  of  Bourneen  to  the  town  of 
Liscannow.  His  soft  felt  hat  was  pulled  well  down 
over  his  eyes,  to  shade  them  from  the  almost  level 
rays  of  the  sun.  A  single,  bare,  elm  tree  on  the 
other  side  of  the  road  made  a  beautiful  pattern 
against  the  burnished  gold  of  the  sky.  The  patch 
of  sea  in  the  distance  by  Liscannow  glittered  like 
a  silver  mirror  ;  while  the  clefts  of  the  mountain, 
at  the  base  of  which  the  town  seemed  to  nestle,  were 
already  a  deep  purple.  Bourneen  chapel  and  village 
on  his  left,  usually  gaunt  and  ugly  under  a  pre- 
vailing grey  sky,  now  glowed  with  genial  warmth. 
But  Father  James  was  not  interested  in  light  effects. 
He  had  no  eye  for  the  brilliant  colours,  purples 
and  greens  and  soft  pinks,  which  the  mixed  slates 
on  his  church  threw  back  to  the  sun.  He  saw 
only  the  stumpy  tower  of  the  barn-like  building. 
It  occupied  his  thoughts,  in  short,  jerky  spasms 
of  annoyance  and  relief,  at  intervals  when  he 
was  not  moodily  gazing  at  the  road,  thinking  of 
nothing  in  particular  ;  or  wondering  why  Father 
Malone  was  so  late  ;  or  counting  the  chances  of 
Father  Delahunty  dropping  in  to  dinner  on  his 


WAITING  39 

way  home  from  Liscannow  ;  or  angrily  asking  him- 
self why  he  had  invited  Father  Delahunty  at  all 
when  he  met  him  accidentally  in  the  road  in  the 
morning,  especially  as  he  didn't  like  him,  and, 
moreover,  as  he  would  be  in  the  way  when  Mike 
Blake  called.  The  thought  of  Mike  Blake  brought 
him  back  to  the  church  tower,  and  he  resisted  an 
interesting  thought  as  to  how  his  three  bullocks 
were  doing  on  Larry  Reardon's  land.  It  was  a 
nuisance  that  the  priest  who  built  the  church  and 
tower  didn't  build  the  spire  too.  Not  that  the  tower 
needed  a  spire,  but  it  would  have  stopped  the  mouth 
of  that  new  broom  of  a  bishop,  Dr.  Hannigan.  He 
scowled  as  he  thought  of  Dr.  Hannigan,  an  outsider 
brought  into  the  diocese  when  he  himself  should 
have  been  made  bishop.  But,  after  all,  he  argued 
with  himself,  why  shouldn't  Hannigan  push  on  the 
parish  priests  to  build  and  improve  churches  and 
make  a  good  show  of  activity  in  his  returns  to 
Rome  ?  It  was  well  known  that  he  didn't  intend 
to  settle  for  life  at  Liscannow,  but  had  his  eye 
on  the  bishopric  of  his  native  diocese  of  Droomeen 
which  was  richer  and  more  important.  No  wonder 
that  he'd  work  hard  to  create  the  impression  at 
Rome  that  he  was  an  active  man  ;  and  so  pave 
his  way  to  promotion.  Father  James  tapped  the 
lower  bar  of  the  gate  with  his  boot  and  admitted, 
with  a  feeling  of  satisfaction  in  his  own  tolerance, 
that  he  would  have  done  likewise  in  Hannigan's 
circumstances.  And,  there  would  be  another  chance 
of  Liscannow  diocese  for  him,  James  Mahon,  if 
Hannigan  left.  Why  not  ?  The  Bishop  of  Droo- 
meen was  an  old  man  and  could  not  last  long. 

He  watched  with  unseeing  eyes  a  dark  bank  of 
cloud  creep  up  and  clutch  the  sun.     The  elm  was 


4o  WAITING 

again  a  gnarled  tree  and  no  longer  a  vivid  mystery 
of  colour  and  line.  The  warmth  had  gone  from 
the  wind  that  blew  in  from  the  sea.  Father  James 
buttoned  up  his  coat  and  walked  the  short  gravel 
path,  with  rectangular  plots  of  rank,  untended, 
weedy  grass  on  either  side,  towards  his  house.  He 
stood  for  a  moment  to  admire  it.  The  oak  graining 
on  the  hall  door,  the  red  brick  chevron  mouldings 
over  the  door  and  windows,  the  stucco  trowelled  off 
into  squares,  the  green  paint  on  the  down  pipe  and 
eave  shoots,  were  all  happy  suggestions  of  his  own 
to  the  complaisant  Board  of  Works  architect  who 
designed  the  house.  Was  it  Delahunty  who  said 
it  was  stark  and  ugly  ?  The  fool  !  and  he  living  in 
an  old,  thatched  cottage,  without  the  room  or  the 
dignity  that  a  parish  priest's  house  ought  to  have. 
The  bishop  had  a  word  of  praise  for  this  beautiful 
house.  That  was  to  Hannigan's  credit.  After  all, 
why  shouldn't  he,  he  thought,  do  his  best  to  be 
friends  with  Hannigan  ?  The  great  mistake  of  his 
life  was  fighting  with  the  old  bishop,  Dr.  Murray. 
It  made  him  popular  with  some  of  the  parish  priests 
and  got  him  their  votes  at  the  election  for  bishop  on 
the  old  man's  death  ;  but  it  gave  him  a  bad  name 
with  the  bishops  of  the  province,  who  ignored  the 
priests'  votes,  passed  him  over,  and  secured 
the  appointment  of  Hannigan.  He  frowned  at  the 
memory  of  this  ;  but,  in  a  moment,  he  laughed  his 
harsh  cackle  and  said  aloud,  "Pooh,  pooh,  a  man 
must  be  sensible."  He  would  build  the  spire,  he 
decided,  as  he  opened  the  front  door  with  a  latch- 
key. Or,  at  least,  he  would  make  a  show  of  setting 
about  it.  Mike  Blake  should  start  the  subscription 
list.  He  banged  the  door  with  a  grim  smile.  If 
the  spire  wasn't  built  the  money  could  go  to 


WAITING  41 

something  else  useful.  It  wouldn't  be  wasted  anyway. 
And  Hannigan  would  be  pleased.  Who  knew 
what  might  happen  if  there  was  another  election  for 
bishop — with  Hannigan's  good  will,  and,  maybe,  the 
friendship  of  bishops  he  might  meet  at  Hannigan's  ? 
All  the  efforts  he  had  made  to  curb  his  temper  with 
the  priests,  and  the  dinners  he  had  lavished  on  them 
might  not  be  wasted  after  all. 

He  hung  his  hat  on  a  peg  in  the  hall  and  was 
hardly  seated  in  his  study  when  Father  Malone 
came  in. 

"  I'm  sorry  I'm  late,"  he  said  apologetically. 
t(  I  had  two  sick  calls  running." 

Father  Mahon  frowned  and  touched  a  bell-push 
by  the  fireplace. 

"  It's  not  often  you  find  an  electric  bell  in  a 
country  parish,"  he  said,  with  returning  good 
humour.  "  I  like  having  things  up-to-date — and 
I  have  what  I  like." 

Father  Malone  smiled  at  a  bookcase  and  took 
out  a  book.  There  was  a  timid  knock  at  the  door, 
and  a  weary-looking,  elderly  servant  entered. 

"  Dish  the  dinner,  Kate.  We  won't  wait  another 
minute  for  Father  Delahunty.  He  can  blame  him- 
self if  he  finds  everything  cold." 

"  Yes,  your  reverence." 

"Now,  you  talk  a  lot  about  art  and  things, 
Father  Malone,"  he  said,  when  the  servant  had  gone. 
"  These  walls  are  dried  out  by  this,  and  I'm  think- 
ing of  papering  them.  What  colour  would  you  put 
on  them  ?  " 

Father  Malone  glanced  at  the  bright  green 
Venetian  blinds,  the  red  plush  window  curtains,  the 
American  roll-top  desk  of  light  oak,  the  carpet  with 
chocolate  roses  on  a  greenish-yellow  background. 


42  WAITING 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said  blankly.  "  Some 
neutral  shade,  perhaps — it  would  take  some  think- 
ing. The  plain  grey  of  the  plaster  isn't  at  all  bad. 
Why  not  let  it  alone  ?  " 

"  And  you're  a  light  of  the  Gaelic  League,  no 
less,  and  write  in  the  poet's  corner  of  the  Liscannow 
News !  And  you  can't  make  up  your  mind  about 
the  colour  of  a  wall-paper  !  Why,  I'd  paper  every 
room  in  the  house  in  my  own  mind  in  a  minute, 
and  a  different  paper  on  each  of  'em." 

"  You  would,"  Father  Malone  said,  with  an 
intonation  that  disturbed  Father  Mahon  and  put 
him  on  the  defensive. 

"  I  would,  and  I'd  teach  you  Irish,  too,"  he  said, 
bridling. 

"  I  know  you  could,  and  I  only  wish  you  would," 
Father  Malone  said,  brightening. 

Father  Mahon  was  somewhat  mollified  by  the 
compliment. 

"  The  turkey  is  on  the  table,  I'm  sure,  by  this," 
he  said,  rising.  "  This  Irish  is  a  bad  business,"  he 
added,  as  he  opened  the  study  door,  "  I'll  have  to 
put  down  my  foot " 

There  was  a  loud  knock  at  the  front  door. 
Father  Mahon  opened  it. 

"  Father  Delahunty,  you're  more  than  welcome," 
he  said  heartily.  "  I  almost  despaired  of  you,  but 
you're  in  the  nick  of  time.  Let  me  help  you  off 
with  your  coat,  and  we'll  go  straight  in." 

Father  Delahunty  held  his  hands  over  the  fire  in 
the  dining-room  for  a  few  seconds. 

"The  food  will  heat  you  up  better,"  Father 
Mahon  said,  sharpening  a  carving  knife. 

"I'll  be  as  fit  as  a  fiddle  after  a  nip,"  Father 
Delahunty  said,  taking  his  seat  and  helping  himself 


WAITING  43 

to  whiskey.  "  Here's  to  you  both,"  he  added 
cheerfully,  his  merry  blue  eyes  twinkling.  He 
took  a  few  sips  and  smacked  his  lips.  "  If  you  were 
out  after  the  hares  all  day  like  me,  you  wouldn't  be 
getting  fat,  Mahon,"  he  said,  laughing.  "We  had 
a  great  day's  coursing  entirely,  near  the  foot  of  the 
mountain  beyond  Liscannow.  I  won  a  couple  of 
pounds,  and  that  puts  great  heart  in  a  man." 

His  open  face,  tanned  russet  from  exposure, 
gleamed  in  the  light  of  the  lamp  Kate  now  put  on 
the  table. 

(<  Don't  pull  down  them  blinds,  Kate,"  he  said 
anxiously.  "  There's  the  kind  of  a  sky  out  to-night 
that  Father  Malone  there'd  be  making  a  poem  on. 
I  had  one  in  me  myself  as  the  horse  ambled  along 
the  road,  but  sorra  word  of  prose,  let  alone  poetry, 
could  I  find  that'd  say  what  I  felt.  If  it  was  to 
describe  a  hound  after  a  hare  now,  I  could  do  it  as 
well  as  any  man." 

Father  Malone  blushed,  and  stole  a  glance 
through  the  window.  The  elm  tree  was  now  a  flat 
intricate  pattern  against  the  purple  of  the  horizon, 
its  top  branches  hidden  in  a  belt  of  grey,  while 
higher  in  the  sky  were  the  last  silver  gleams  of 
the  sun. 

"  It's  a  nuisance  having  windows  facing  the  west, 
the  sun  bothers  you  so  much  in  the  summer  even- 
ings," Father  Mahon  said,  busy  carving  and  making 
comparisons  between  Father  Delahunty's  slim,  wiry 
figure  and  his  own.  "  I'm  not  fat.  No  one  could 
call  me  fat  with  my  figure,"  he  added,  handing  a 
plate  to  Delahunty. 

"You  were  always  a  bit  vain  of  your  figure, 
James.  And  sorra  much  bulge  there's  in  it  yet. 
If  you'd  only  take  to  coursing " 


44  WAITING 

Father  Mahon  pursed  his  lips.  "  Alas  !  the 
cares  of  a  big  parish— 

"  A  score  of  bullocks  out  on  grass — they  take 
some  looking  after.  True,  they  ought  to  give  you 
exercise  enough.  Maybe  it's  age  that's  coming  over 
us,  James  ?  We're  both  on  the  borders  of  fifty," 
Father  Delahunty  said  cheerfully. 

"  Nonsense.  I  feel  as  young  as  ever  I  did. 
Not  but  I  have  troubles  enough  to  worry  me," 
Father  James  said  with  a  frown. 

"  Not  the  curate  ?  "  Father  Delahunty  said,  with 
a  wink  at  Father  Malone.  "  They're  always  a  thorn 
in  the  flesh.  I  turn  the  parish  over  to  mine,  and 
he's  as  meek  as  a  mouse  since  I  let  him  be  boss." 

Father  Mahon  frowned,  glared  at  Father 
Malone,  opened  his  lips  and  shut  them  with  a 
snap. 

"The  people,  I  meant,"  he  said,  after  some 
hesitation.  "They're  getting  beyond  the  beyonds. 
Not  but  that  I'm  able  for  them." 

"You  might  be  pulling  the  reins  too  tight," 
Delahunty  said  seriously. 

"  The  day  the  priests  of  Ireland  cease  to  be 
masters,  it'll  be  a  bad  day  for  the  Church — and  for 
the  country,"  Father  Mahon  said  emphatically. 

u  Phew,"  Father  Delahunty  said,  making  a  long 
face. 

"  I  find  the  people  easy  to  work  with,"  Father 
Malone  said,  with  some  determination. 

"  Because  you  let  them  master  you — it's  a  case 
of  the  dog  wagging  his  tail,"  Father  Mahon  said 
crossly. 

"  Sometimes  they  wag  me,  sometimes  I  wag 
them  ;  generally,  we  trot  along  comfortably  to- 
gether," Father  Malone  said,  with  good  humour. 


WAITING  45 

"  A  man  after  all  is  very  like  a  greyhound," 
Father  Delahunty  said  musingly. 

Father  Mahon  bit  his  lip  to  restrain  his  anger. 
He  laughed  harshly. 

"  Wait  till  you've  twenty-five  years  on  the 
mission,  like  me — and  Delahunty  there,  and  you'll 
learn  sense." 

"  I  don't  know.  Babes  and  sucklings  !  you 
know,  James  ? "  Delahunty  said.  "  I  often  learnt  a 
great  deal  from  a  litter  of  young  dogs." 

"  I'm  not  going  to  let  any  one,  curate  or  people, 
turn  my  parish  upside  down,"  Father  Mahon  said, 
frowning  into  his  plate.  He  gulped  his  food  for  a 
few  minutes  in  silence. 

Father  Delahunty  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
went  on  with  his  dinner. 

"  A  present  ? "  he  said,  nodding  at  the  remains 
of  the  turkey,  as  he  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork. 

"  Oh,  they're  free-handed  enough — if  you  keep 
'em  up  to  it,"  Father  Mahon  said  gloomily. 

Kate  appeared  at  the  door  and  beckoned  eagerly 
to  Father  Mahon.  When  he  noticed  her  he  got  up 
hastily  and  said — 

"  Draw  your  chairs  round  to  the  fire.  The 
whiskey  is  at  your  elbow,  and  Kate'll  bring  in  the 
hot  water  at  once.  The  dinner  was  a  bit  late,  and 
I  forgot  I  appointed  to  see  a  man.  I  won't  be 
long." 

"Where  is  he  ? "  he  said  to  Kate  in  the  hall. 

"  In  the  kitchen,  your  reverence.  It's  Mike 
Blake,  and  he  said  you  expected  him.  Will  you  see 
him  here  in  the  hall,  or  in  your  study  ?  " 

"  What  did  I  tell  you  before  when  people  come 
by  appointment  ? "  he  said  impatiently. 

"  You'll   find  the  lamp  lit.     Sometimes  you're 


46  WAITING 

vexed  at  one  thing,  sometimes  at  another,"  she 
muttered  in  a  flat  voice  without  resentment. 

He  stood,  picking  his  teeth,  with  his  back  to 
the  fire,  and  admired  his  bookcase.  The  room  was 
called  a  study  partly  because  it  was  so  marked  on 
the  architect's  plans,  and  partly  because  there  were 
books  in  it.  Father  James  had  been  a  prizeman  in 
Maynooth,  but  he  seldom  read  anything  now  except 
newspapers.  Occasionally  he  read  a  text-book  on 
canon  law  to  assure  himself  of  his  own  rights,  and 
of  the  limits  of  a  bishop's  authority.  He  also 
refreshed  his  memory  of  moral  theology  for  a  few 
hours  before  the  conferences  which  were  held  four 
or  five  times  a  year.  He  professed  a  love  of  litera- 
ture, but  never  read  any.  His  anger  with  Father 
Malone  was  often  tempered  by  the  contempt  he  felt 
for  him  because  he  had  once  found  him  absorbed  in 
some  book  of  poetry.  He  sometimes  bought  a 
paper-covered  sensational  novel  at  the  bookshop  in 
Liscannow,  but  rarely  finished  it.  He  was  so 
interested  in  his  own  schemes  that  it  bored  him  to 
read  other  people's  imaginary  adventures.  He  often 
sat  for  hours  in  front  of  the  study  fire,  the  poker  in 
his  hand,  thinking  of  his  cattle,  or  his  investments, 
or  the  affairs  of  his  parishioners — of  the  latter, 
always,  however,  in  relation  to  himself.  As  he 
heard  Mike  Blake's  heavy  step  coming  along  the 
linoleum-covered  hall  his  eye  rested  on  a  vacant 
space  in  one  of  the  walls.  Dr.  Hannigan  had  open 
shelves  running  round  his  whole  library,  he  remem- 
bered. Yes,  he  would  put  shelves  on  that  wall,  and 
pick  up  books  enough  to  fill  them,  at  auctions,  where 
they  were  always  to  be  had  for  little  or  nothing. 

He  was  so  taken  by  this  idea  that  he  began  to 
measure  the  vacant  space  by  stepping  the  floor,  and 


WAITING  47 

did  not  notice  Mike  Blake  standing  at  the  open 
door.  Mike  coughed. 

"  Wait  a  minute,  till  I  step  this,"  the  priest  said, 
looking  up  and  balancing  himself  carefully,  one  foot 
touching  the  other. 

"  Sit  in  front  of  the  fire,"  he  said,  as  he  made  a 
note  on  a  sheet  of  paper  at  his  desk. 

Mike  sat  on  the  edge  of  a  chair  and  laid  his 
hat  beside  him  on  the  floor. 

Father  James  drew  an  armchair  close  to  the  fire 
and  sat  so  that  he  could  look  at  the  fire  or  at  Mike 
without  altering  his  position.  He  crossed  his  legs, 
rested  them  on  a  corner  of  the  fender,  and  clasped 
his  hands  as  if  in  prayer. 

"Well,  Mike,"  he  said,  looking  at  the  fire,  "and 
what  can  I  be  doing  for  you  ?  " 

"  Touching  our  little  conversation  yesterday, 
your  reverence " 

"Yes,  yes.  I'm  glad  you  called,  Mike.  You 
remember  the  bishop's  sermon  at  the  last  con- 
firmation ? " 

Mike  scratched  his  head.  "What  with  hearing 
so  many  of  'em,  one  every  Sunday,  and  two,  maybe, 
if  it's  a  confraternity  night,  not  to  speak  of  holidays, 
they  oftentimes  go  in  one  ear  and  out  the  other." 

"  About  the  spire." 

"  I  remember  it  well  now  that  you  call  it  to 
mind.  Sure  we  all  thought  it  was  a  great  romancer 
he  was.  And  all  the  calls  that  was  on  us  lately,  too, 
drawing  stone  and  gravel  for  this  grand  house, 
thanks  be  to  God,  and  for  the  new  porch  in  the 
chapel,  and  the  new  schoolhouse " 

"  It's  the  new  teacher'll  get  the  benefit  of  that," 
Father  James  interrupted. 

"  Sure  what  I  came  to  talk  to  you  about " 


48  WAITING 

"The  bishop  was  quite  serious,"  Father  James 
broke  in,  looking  meditatively  at  the  fire.  "That 
spire  has  been  on  my  conscience  too,  this  many  a 
year.  We  must  build  it,  Mike.  We  must  build  it. 
For  the  credit  of  the  parish,  we  must  build  it.  I'd 
have  done  it  long  ago,  only  I  didn't  like  to  be 
putting  too  much  of  the  substance  of  my  poor 
people  into  stone  and  mortar.  If  I  had  the  money 
by  me  I'd  pay  for  it  out  of  my  own  pocket.  But 
what's  the  use  of  talking  about  that  ?  and  the  drag 
there's  on  the  few  pence  a  priest  has  in  a  parish  like 
this." 

While  the  priest  was  speaking,  Mike  looked 
alternately  at  him  and  at  the  fire  several  times.  He 
was  puzzled,  and  thought  that  the  fire,  from  which 
Father  James  seemed  to  be  reading,  would  enlighten 
him.  The  unusual  gentleness  of  the  priest's  voice 
troubled  him  ;  all  he  could  say,  when  Father  Mahon 
stopped,  was — 

"  It's  a  power  of  money  it'll  take." 

"  It  will.  I  can't  put  a  public  cess  on  at  present 
— it'll  give  me  enough  to  do  to  level  up  the  dues. 
But  I'm  going  to  start  a  private  fund  to  show  the 
bishop  we're  in  earnest.  I'll  head  it  with  a  hundred 
pounds." 

"  It's  easy  for  your  reverence  to  lift  money  from 
one  pocket  into  the  other,"  Mike  said  with  an  un- 
easy laugh. 

The  priest  glared  at  him  angrily,  poked  the  fire 
and  laughed  harshly. 

"We'll  keep  the  matter  between  ourselves  for 
the  present.  You're  the  first  man  I've  mentioned 
it  to,"  he  said,  ignoring  Mike's  remark. 

"  I'd  as  lief  I  wasn't,  but  as  your  reverence  spoke 
of  it,  five  pounds  won't  rob  me." 


WAITING  49 

Father  Mahon  stood  up  and  frowned,  his  under 
lip  for  a  moment  almost  touching  his  nose. 

"  I  gave  you  credit  for  more  sense,  Mike  Blake," 
he  said,  turning  towards  the  fire  and  holding  out 
his  hands  to  the  blaze.  "  You  !  a  man  with  your 
farm  bought,  and  a  good  slice  of  grass  land  thrown 
in,  and  your  son,  the  schoolmaster,  as  good  as 
settled  in  the  world." 

A  slow  smile  crept  over  Mike's  face.  He 
screwed  up  his  lips  and  fumbled  in  the  pocket  of 
his  waistcoat  for  his  pipe.  He  took  it  out  and  put 
it  back  hastily.  He  looked  at  Father  James,  who 
was  gazing  thoughtfully  at  the  fire. 

"  Maybe  I  made  it  too  little,  would  twenty- 
five- 

The  priest  only  protruded  his  under  lip. 

"  Forty  ?  "  Mike  said  tremulously. 

Father  James  seemed  to  consider  this,  turned 
towards  Mike,  and  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 

"  If  I  make  it  the  round  sum  of  fifty,"  Mike 
said,  standing  up  in  his  excitement,  "  it's  the  highest 
I  can  go." 

"  And  a  generous  subscription  it  is,  Mike.  And 
a  credit  to  yourself  and  your  fine  family.  And  now 
about  this  other  business.  Can  you  speak  up  for 
your  son  Maurice  ?  " 

"  I  can,  then." 

"  Is  he  biddable  ?" 

"  His  mother  and  myself  always  found  him  that." 

"And  a  good  warrant  to  attend  mass  and  the 
sacraments  ?  " 

"  There's  no  fault  in  him  on  that  head." 

"  Well,  then,  tell  him  I'm  glad  to  give  the 
school  to  his  father's  son.  And  I  promise  I'll  treat 
him  well — if  he'll  be  said  and  led  by  me." 

E 


50  WAITING 

<{  No  one  could  speak  fairer,  and  we're  all 
beholden  to  your  reverence,"  Mike  said,  reaching 
for  his  hat. 

"  I  haven't  asked  you  if  you  had  a  mouth  on 
you,  but  I've  a  few  priests  within,  and  I'm  too  long 
from  them  as  it  is." 

"  Sure  I  never  expected  that,  Father.  The 
blessing  of  God  on  you.  Mary'll  be  on  the  tenter- 
hooks till  I  tell  her  the  news.  She'll  be  a  proud 
woman  to-night." 

When  Father  Mahon  got  back  to  his  guests  he 
was  still  frowning,  but  he  was  rubbing  his  hands 
together  vigorously. 

"  You're  as  pleased  as  punch,"  Father  Delahunty 
said,  glancing  from  his  face  to  his  hands. 

"  I  am.  Whatever  tricks  the  young  people  may 
be  up  to,  thank  God  the  old  are  still  amenable  to 
their  Church  and  their  priests.  I've  taken  your 
advice,"  he  added,  laughingly,  to  Father  Malone, 
"  and  given  Bourneen  school  to  Maurice  Blake." 

"Why  that's  splendid,"  Father  Malone  said 
excitedly.  "  I  was  afraid,  from  the  way  you  took 
what  I  said  of  him,  that  you  had  some  one  else  in 
your  mind." 

"  A  wise  man  doesn't  rush  an  important  affair," 
Father  Mahon  said  sententiously. 

u  So  that  was  it,"  Father  Delahunty  said  dryly, 
holding  his  glass  between  him  and  the  light. 


CHAPTER  IV 

FOR  some  time  after  his  father  had  set  out  for  the 
priest's  house  Maurice  Blake  chatted  with  his  mother 
in  front  of  the  fire  in  the  kitchen.  Tom  was  busy 
in  the  cowhouse  and  Hanny  in  the  dairy.  Mrs. 
Blake  sat  on  a  creepy,  sewing,  halfway  between  the 
lamp  on  the  window  and  the  fire,  so  that  the  light 
from  both  fell  dimly  on  her  work.  Maurice  stood, 
his  arm  resting  on  the  wooden  beam  that  ran  across 
the  top  of  the  open  fireplace. 

"  He's    no  farther  than  the   five-acre   meadow 
yet  ?  "  Mrs.  Blake  said. 
"  Hardly." 

She   plied  her  needle  for  a  few  minutes  in   a 
silence  broken  only  by  the  asthmatic  ticking  of  the 
old  clock  and  the  swish  of  thread  through  the  cloth. 
"  He  ought  to  be  past  the  cross-roads  by  this  ?  " 
"  About  that.     He's  not  a  quick  walker." 
"  No.     He's  getting  leisurely  on  the  feet." 
"  Why  in   the  world  does  Father  James  want 
to  see  my  father  and  not  me  ? " 

Mrs.  Blake  fastened  her  needle  in  the  cloth  and 
measured  with  the  back  of  her  hand. 

"  Sure  why  would  you  ask  me  ?  It  is  not  easy 
to  fathom  what's  in  the  back  of  Father  James's  mind. 
It  wouldn't  surprise  me,  though  he's  dark  and 
haughty  itself,  if  he  wanted  to  pay  a  compliment  to 
Mike.  There'd  be  small  wonder  in  it  if  he  did,  and 


52  WAITING 

the  way  Mike  always  stood  by  the  clergy,  and  his 
father  before  him.  A  horse  and  cart  always  at  their 
bidding  whenever  they  liked  to  call  for  it.  And 
many  a  load  of  hay  and  straw  when  the  priest  was 
scarce,  or  a  lock  of  oats  itself,  and  the  freedom  of 
the  gravel  pit  for  any  building  the  clergy  had  a  hand 
in  since  the  year  of  one.  And  quarried  and  carried 
by  Mike  himself  for  nothing  at  all.  And  the  priest 
often  getting  paid  for  it,  I'm  told,  by  the  government 
or  the  like.  And  carts  for  bringing  home  the  turf. 
Not  to  speak  of  him  being  always  among  the  fore- 
most, for  his  means,  at  the  dues.  And  the  fat  goose 
that  I  plucked  with  my  own  hands  at  Michaelmas 
and  took  to  the  parish  priest's  back  door  every  year 
since  I  stepped  across  the  threshold  of  this  house, 
and  maybe  a  pair  of  hens  at  Martinmas,  and  a  turkey 
at  Christmas,  and  an  odd  thing  in  between." 

"  I  hope  Father  Mahon  will  be  influenced  by 
none  of  these  things,"  Maurice  said,  flushing  a  little. 
"  It's  a  government  appointment,  and  I  ought  to  get 
it  on  my  merits  or  not  at  all." 

"  Sure  no  one  knows  better  that  you  deserve  it 
than  Father  Mahon  himself;  but  you  wouldn't 
grudge  your  father  the  satisfaction  of  being  the 
first  to  hear  the  news,  and  his  heart  as  set  on  you 
being  in  Bourneen  as  my  own  is." 

Maurice  tapped  one  of  the  flagstones  with  his 
boot.  "  I'd  rather " 

"  He  ought  to  be  passing  the  old  mill,  by  now," 
Mrs.  Blake  interrupted. 

"  You  won't  mind  if  I  go  up  and  read  awhile, 
mother,"  Maurice  said  with  a  smile. 

"  Sure  I  won't,"  she  said  with  relief.  "  We're 
only  making  each  other  uneasy  by  our  thoughts  and 
the  great  errand  Mike  is  gone  on.  Besides,  the 


WAITING  53 

needle  is  great  company.  Wait  till  I  fill  the  quart 
bottle  with  hot  water  for  you  to  put  to  your  feet. 
It's  chilly  above." 

He  mounted  the  flat-runged  ladder  that  served 
as  a  stairs,  a  lighted  candle  in  an  old-fashioned 
brass  candlestick  in  one  hand,  the  hot-water  bottle 
covered  with  a  piece  of  flannel  in  the  other.  The 
ladder,  starting  from  the  foot  of  the  settle  in  the 
kitchen,  led  to  the  "  big  room,"  now  handed  over 
to  Maurice's  use,  though  usually  it  served  as  the 
dower  house  of  widowed  heads  of  the  Blake  family, 
or  the  bridal  chamber  of  the  eldest  son  if  he  married 
in  the  lifetime  of  both  parents.  Opening  out  of  it 
was  Tom's  bedroom. 

Maurice  sat  at  a  small  deal  table  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed,  a  large  structure  enclosed  by  a  wooden 
canopy  on  all  sides  except  the  front,  which  was  cur- 
tained, and  so  placed  as  to  be  heated  by  the  kitchen 
flue.  He  opened  a  book  and  began  to  read. 
Though  he  sat  with  his  back  to  the  warm  wall  and 
had  the  hot-water  bottle  at  his  feet  he  soon  felt  cold. 
He  put  on  an  overcoat  and  wrapped  a  rug  about  his 
knees.  He  turned  a  few  pages  of  the  book,  an 
idealized  history  of  medieval  Ireland,  but  soon  gave 
way  to  the  dreams  which  this  book  always  evoked. 
His  eyes  wandered  to  the  guttering  candle  which 
seemed  to  be  blown  on  by  all  the  winds  of  heaven. 
For  moments  it  burned  with  a  clear  flame.  A 
blast  up  the  open  stair  head  made  it  flutter  towards 
the  bed,  till  another  blast,  creeping  round  the  corner 
of  the  bed  from  the  windows,  almost  set  it  straight 
again.  A  whistling  wind  from  over  the  low  par- 
tition, dividing  the  room  from  Tom's,  drove  the 
flame  towards  the  book.  Then  all  the  winds  seemed 
to  rush  to  the  open  space  above  the  rafters,  rattled 


54  WAITING 

and  fought  among  the  slates,  swept  down  in  a  united 
phalanx,  and  for  some  doubtful  seconds  threatened 
to  extinguish  the  candle.  Then  it  burnt  clear  again. 

Somehow,  in  some  vague  way,  it  typified  Ireland 
for  him.  Buffeted  now  by  one  harsh  wind,  now  by 
another,  until  she  lay  almost  prone  in  the  dust. 
Then,  at  intervals,  the  clear  flame  and  the  infinite 
promise  ! 

Always  in  his  imagination  Ireland  had  been  a 
woman.  In  the  sad  songs  he  remembered  from  his 
childhood  she  was  often  old  and  decrepit,  sitting  by 
a  fireless  hearth,  forsaken  and  weary  under  a  broken 
roof,  but  always  with  haunting  eyes  that  looked 
straight  into  his  soul.  When  he  saw  her  young 
and  radiant  in  other  songs  she  had  the  same  eyes  of 
appealing  beauty,  sad  even  in  their  smile. 

The  wind  had  gone  down  and  the  faint  light  of 
the  candle  lost  itself  in  the  gloom  above  the  rafters. 
Curious  shadows  flitted  in  dim  corners.  The  fire- 
light from  the  kitchen  danced  on  the  wall  by  the 
stairhead.  Maurice  saw  all  the  squalid  details  of 
the  room  :  the  rough  uncarpeted  floor ;  the  white- 
washed walls,  stained  green  in  patches  where  the 
rain  had  trickled  down  from  the  roof;  the  few 
unpainted  deal  shelves  that  contained  his  books  ; 
the  battered  tin  trunk  that  held  his  best  suit ;  the 
rest  of  his  clothes,  hanging  from  pegs  on  the  parti- 
tion ;  the  wooden  box,  with  a  towel  laid  over  it, 
that  served  as  a  wash-stand  ;  the  other  box  that 
made  a  dressing-table,  but  this  Hanny  had  decorated 
with  muslin  and  ribbons.  All  his  life  he  seemed  to 
have  been  able  to  see  the  sordid,  to  see  it  keenly,  to 
feel  its  pain.  But  always  the  lady  of  his  dreams 
had  been  a  refuge — from  the  stench  of  the  manure 
heap  when  it  stood  in  the  bawn  and  pervaded  the 


WAITING  55 

whole  house,  from  Father  Mahon's  scowling  face  on 
station  days,  from  the  stones  that  bruised  his  feet  as 
he  scampered  barefooted  to  school  as  a  boy. 

He  saw  her  now  in  the  gleam  of  firelight  dancing 
on  the  wall,  tresses  of  shining  hair  at  her  waist,  her 
beautiful  mysterious  face  hidden  in  the  shadows  of 
the  rafters,  as  he  had  so  often  seen  her  in  the  dawn  and 
in  the  twilight,  and  at  the  back  of  the  fire  on  winter 
nights  when  he  sat  on  the  hob  listening  entranced  to 
his  grandfather's  tales  of  heroic  deeds  done  for 
Ireland  in  the  past. 

Even  then  he  knew  that  she  was  only  the  child 
of  his  imagination,  but  he  loved  her  none  the  less 
well  for  that.  She  made  him  work  and  gave 
purpose  to  his  life. 

His  mind  went  back  to  that  first  walk  with  Master 
Driscoll,  when  the  teacher  said  that  he  was  inclined 
to  recommend  him  for  a  monitorship. 

They  passed  a  rath  surmounted  by  a  dismantled 
castle,  and  Driscoll  told  story  after  story  :  how,  in 
that  very  fort,  Guaire  the  High  King  had  kindled 
hope  in  the  heart  of  Ireland  ;  how  Brian  had  washed 
the  tears  away  from  the  face  of  Ireland  for  many  a 
long  day  by  a  fierce  fight  that  lasted  far  into  the 
night.  .  .  . 

"There's  no  doing  of  great  deeds  like  them  in 
these  days,"  he  had  wound  up,  with  a  sigh.  "  Still 
every  man  can  do  his  little.  Even  a  schoolmaster 
can  do  his  share.  Indeed,  he  can  do  great  things 
for  Ireland  if  he's  only  the  right  sort." 

From  that  day  Maurice  had  set  his  heart  on 
being  a  schoolmaster.  In  the  old  thatched  school- 
house  beside  the  chapel,  weather-beaten  and  dilapi- 
dated despite  all  Master  Driscoll's  efforts  to  keep 
it  neat  and  trim,  he  dreamt  dreams  and  saw  visions. 


56  WAITING 

All  that  the  teacher  knew  he  soon  learned  :  such 
knowledge  as  counts  with  Boards  of  Education,  and 
knowledge  that  Boards  are  suspicious  of,  great  stores 
of  traditional  lore  that  coloured  the  whole  country 
side  with  romance.  He  drank  in  too,  incon- 
gruously enough,  a  hatred  of  the  whole  system 
and  methods  of  the  Board  of  Education,  one  of 
whose  teachers  it  was  his  ambition  to  become. 

"  All  the  good  I  ever  did  as  a  teacher,"  Driscoll 
used  to  say,  "  I  did  in  my  own  garden  in  odd  half- 
hours  before  school  or  after  and  during  recreations. 
The  Board  forced  me  to  train  a  boy  to  be  a  bad  clerk, 
and  I  did  it,  God  forgive  me  ;  but  for  my  penance, 
or  maybe  because  I  loved  it,  in  that  few  roods  of 
garden  that  you  see  there  I  tried  to  teach  him  to  be 
a  man,  to  know  and  love  the  land  he  was  reared  on 
and  the  things  that  grew  and  lived  on  it." 

These  and  other  memories  of  his  childhood  and 
youth  came  back  to  Maurice  as  he  watched  the 
firelight  flicker  ;  and  the  memory  of  a  few  unhappy 
years  in  Liscannow  as  an  assistant  teacher,  and  his 
two  years  at  the  Training  College.  .  .  . 

Then  he  tried  to  see  himself  as  teacher  of 
Bourneen  school.  Much  as  he  had  dreamed  and 
thought  of  it  in  the  past,  only  vague  and  blurred 
images  emerged  now — of  himself  weak  and  helpless, 
struggling  with  some  sinister  force.  .  .  . 

He  heard  his  father's  step  on  the  gravel,  the 
latch  lifted,  his  mother's,  "  Oh,  Mike,  I  didn't 
think  you  could  be  back  yet,"  a  whispered  con- 
versation, a  long-drawn  "  Oh,"  in  his  mother's 
voice,  more  whispers,  then  his  mother  again,  "  God'll 
make  up  for  it.  Thanks  be  to  His  holy  name  that 
I'll  have  Maurice  near  me  all  my  life." 

He  had  got  the  school.    All  his  old  hopes  began 


WAITING 


57 


to  revive.  He  jumped  up  and  had  already  blown 
out  the  candle  when  his  mother  shouted,  "  Maurice, 
Maurice."  When  he  was  halfway  down  the  ladder 
she  said  excitedly — 

"  Sure  I  knew  you'd  get  it." 

"  You  did,"  Mike  said  grimly,  rattling  the 
tin  tobacco-box  and  the  old  penknife  in  his  right- 
hand  trousers  pocket. 

"  Did  he  make  any  difficulties  ? "  Maurice  asked, 
when  he  got  to  the  floor. 

Mike  looked  gloomily  at  the  fire,  but  Mrs. 
Blake  said  effusively — 

"  Sorra  one,  only  a  few  questions  that  a  child 
could  answer.  Rouse  yourself,  Mike.  He's  always 
moonstruck  after  seeing  Father  Tames — he  has  that 

• 

paralysing  effect  on  him.  Though  the  priest  was  in 
the  best  of  humours — a  fine  young  man,  he  said  you 
were." 

Maurice  was  not  quite  satisfied,  and  asked  his 
father  for  an  exact  account  of  what  took  place. 

"  It's  up  to  you  now,  Mike.  Rack  your  brain 
and  tell  the  boy  what  happened,"  Mrs.  Blake  said 
anxiously. 

Mike  filled  his  pipe  with  some  deliberation. 
When  he  had  lit  it  and  taken  a  few  long  puffs,  he 
began  a  detailed  narration  of  the  interview,  at  which, 
it  seemed,  all  the  merits  of  Maurice,  from  a  child 
up,  if  forgotten  by  his  father,  were  mentioned  with 
much  fervour  by  the  priest. 

Maurice  tried  to  stop  him  several  times,  but 
Mike,  having  once  started,  would  not  be  checked. 

"There  it's  all  for  you  now,"  he  wound  up. 
"  I  wouldn't  swear  to  every  remark  being  made  in 
them  exact  words.  But  sorra  word  I've  spoken  to  you 
now  that  one  or  other  of  us  didn't  think  anyway." 


58  WAITING 

With  this  salve  to  his  conscience  Mike  fell  into 
silence.  But  Maurice  had  long  since  ceased  to 
listen.  He  was  thinking  of  what  he  would  teach 
and  what  he  wouldn't  teach. 

Hanny  came  in  and  asked,  "  Has  he  got  it  ?  " 

Her  mother  nodded. 

Hanny  said,  "  Thank  God,"  and  proceeded  to 
lay  the  table  for  supper. 

"  Put  on  the  currant  cake  that's  left  over  from 
the  station,  in  honour  of  the  night  that's  in  it," 
Mrs.  Blake  said. 

Mike  was  gloomy  over  his  supper,  Mrs.  Blake 
and  Maurice  thoughtful.  Hanny  cast  admiring 
glances  at  Maurice  in  the  intervals  of  helping  every 
one. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  meal  Tom  entered 
singing. 

"  What  news  ? "  he  asked  eagerly. 

"  The  best,"  Hanny  said  cheerfully.  "  But 
don't  be  sitting  down  with  them  hands.  The 
basin  is  on  the  chair  by  the  back  door." 

He  washed  his  face  and  hands.  "  It's  a  poor 
job,  Maurice,  my  boy,  teaching  a  lot  of  gossoons; 
but  sure,  as  you  like  it,  I'm  glad  you  got  it,"  he 
said  from  the  middle  of  the  floor,  scrubbing  his 
face  and  neck  vigorously  with  a  towel.  "  Did  the 
big  man  make  a  struggle  to  put  in  a  bullock  on  us 
on  the  head  of  it  ? " 

"  He  didn't,"  Mike  said  crossly. 

"  Moreover,"  Mrs.  Blake  intervened,  "  he  said 
he  always  had  a  liking  for  Maurice  ever  since  he 
used  to  serve  mass  at  the  Bourneen  altar." 

"  It's  many  a  clout  he  gave  him  on  the  side  of 
the  head  by  the  way  of  showing  it,"  Tom  said, 
taking  his  seat  at  a  corner  of  the  table. 


WAITING  59 

"  It's  too  free  ye  are  in  discussing  the  clergy," 
Mike  Blake  said.  "  There's  neither  luck  nor  grace 
in  it." 

"That's  true  enough,"  Mrs.  Blake  said. 

"  Troth,  they  get  a  skelp  of  the  tongue  now  as 
well  as  another,"  Tom  said  grimly. 

Maurice  rose  from  the  table  and  took  his  hat  off 
the  back  of  the  door. 

"  I  think  I'll  take  a  run  down  to  see  Master 
Driscoll." 

"  Do  then,  agra.  He'll  be  glad  to  hear  of  it," 
Mrs.  Blake  said. 

"  I'd  be  glad  to  go  a  bit  of  the  way  with  you, 
only  I'll  be  taking  the  opposite  direction,"  Tom 
said,  his  mouth  full. 

"  Reardons  again,"  Mrs.  Blake  said,  with  a  sigh. 

Maurice  lingered  on  the  road.  A  high  moon 
seemed  to  race  through  the  sky  as  thin  filmy  clouds 
scudded  across  it,  lighting  up  the  old  landmarks  in 
vivid  flashes  :  the  robber  cavern  of  his  very  young 
days,  now,  alas  !  to  his  grown-up  eyes,  only  a  rather 
shallow  ditch  covered  with  blackberry  bushes  ;  the 
twisted  thorn  tree  under  which  the  leprechaun  sat 
and  mended  brogues  or  mayhap  hammered  sove- 
reigns on  his  little  anvil  ;  the  gate  of  the  five-acre 
meadow,  past  which  one  had  to  hurry  at  the  coming 
on  of  dark,  lest  the  dead  coach,  drawn  by  headless 
horses,  should  dash  through  with  its  ghostly  freight 
from  the  big  house  that  once  stood  in  the  middle 
of  the  field — a  great  house  with  a  hundred  windows, 
lit  by  countless  candles,  sometimes  seen  by  the 
unwary  and  always  a  sure  presage  of  death.  To- 
night there  was  no  feeling — half  fear,  half  hope — of 
seeing  leprechaun  or  coach.  Still  his  heart  beat 
wonderfully.  The  great  river,  over  which  he  had 


60  WAITING 

stood  patiently  for  hours  as  a  boy  fishing  with  a 
bent  pin  baited  with  bread  crumb,  was  only  the  tiny 
stream  whose  faint  murmur  he  scarcely  heard  as  he 
walked,  and  up  which  no  trout  had  ever  ventured. 
Yet,  another  and  a  greater  dream  had  not  been 
shattered.  He  was  to  be  schoolmaster  at  Bourneen. 
This  dazzling  dream,  with  which  at  first  he  only 
played,  as  he  played  at  keeping  house  with  Hanny 
under  the  privet  bushes  in  the  garden,  trudging 
along  barefooted  at  Tom's  heels  by  this  very  road, 
two  sods  of  turf  under  his  arm  and  a  strap  of  books 
slung  on  his  back,  was  at  last  about  to  come  true. 
Nor  had  the  glamour  gone  when  the  play  became 
a  set  purpose.  The  game  of  wielding  a  ferule  at  a 
rostrum  had  yielded  to  a  higher  ideal.  He  was  to 
continue  Master  Driscoll's  work,  to  help  in  the 
forming  of  men  and  women,  to  ... 

He  laughed  now  as  he  remembered  the  language 
in  which  he  used  to  clothe  his  ideal,  "  to  help  them 
to  lift  the  mantle  of  sorrow  off  the  shoulders  of 
Kathleen  ni  Houlihan." 

Father  Mahon's  dining-room  was  still  alight  as 
he  passed.  He  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  priest's  side 
face  through  the  uncurtained  window.  It  brought 
back  painful  memories  which  he  tried  in  vain  to 
shake  off:  the  terror  of  the  children  when  Father 
James  stalked  into  the  schoolroom  and  scowled  at 
them ;  his  rudeness  to  Master  Driscoll  ;  that 
terrible  Sunday  in  Bourneen  chapel  when  the  priest 
had  struck  him  across  the  face  with  the  wisp  of  a 
cow's  tail  used  for  sprinkling  holy  water,  because, 
while  holding  the  basin,  he  had  pushed  against  the 
priest's  elbow.  He  felt  the  weal  on  his  cheek  now 
and  the  coil  of  the  tail  round  the  back  of  his  head, 
and  the  holy  water  oozing  down  his  neck. 


WAITING  6 1 

All  that  was  in  the  past,  he  said  to  himself, 
shrugging  his  shoulders.  And  perhaps  the  priest 
had  changed  ?  It  was  a  good  omen  that  he  had 
been  so  civil  and  pleasant  to  his  father  in  their 
interview  to-night. 

The  moon,  breaking  from  under  a  cloud  as  he 
entered  the  little  village,  shone  on  the  thatch  of  the 
half-dozen  labourers'  cottages  that  led  to  Clancy's 
big  public  house  and  general  shop  opposite  the 
chapel  gate.  A  few  more  cottages,  two  public  houses, 
the  post  office  with  sweets  and  thread  and  a  trimmed 
hat  in  its  small  window,  a  police  barrack,  Father 
Malone's  cottage,  a  forge,  and  Maurice  was  at  the 
gate  of  the  schoolhouse,  with  nothing  of  village 
beyond  but  Master  Driscoll's  cottage  and  the 
corrugated  iron  store  of  the  Bourneen  Agricultural 
Society. 

He  stood  for  a  few  minutes  gazing  at  the  school. 
He  could  just  read  "  Bourneen  Mixed  National 
School,"  in  white  letters  on  a  black  board  over  the 
door.  Notwithstanding  Master  Driscoll's  efforts  at 
flower-beds,  and  the  creepers  which  already  climbed 
to  the  window  sills,  the  new  building  looked  bleak 
and  cold  in  the  wan  light.  He  checked  a  sigh  for 
the  old  school  with  its  thatched  roof  and  the 
rambler  roses  twining  about  the  wooden  porch  and 
losing  themselves  in  the  thatch,  by  the  thought  that 
in  this  month  the  rose  trees  would  have  been  dead 
too.  In  spring  these  banked-up  flower-beds  would 
be  gay  with  colour,  and  the  creepers  no  longer  little 
strips  of  rag. 

In  response  to  his  knock  at  the  door  of  the 
schoolmaster's  cottage,  Driscoll  shouted  "  Come 
in."  He  pushed  open  the  door  and  found 
the  old  man  seated  in  a  rush  armchair  in  the 


62  WAITING 

living-room  and  kitchen,  on  which  the  front  door 
gave. 

"  Maurice,  is  it  ?  "  he  said,  pushing  his  spectacles 
up  on  his  forehead,  and  shading  his  eyes  from  the 
lamp-light  with  his  hand.  "  Shut  the  door  tight 
and  draw  the  curtain  over  it.  There's  a  cruel 
draught  on  the  fire  these  cold  nights." 

He  pushed  forward  a  second  rush  armchair,  took 
a  box  or  churchwarden  pipes  from  a  shelf,  and  care- 
fully selecting  two,  put  them  and  a  tobacco  jar  on 
the  table  behind  the  two  chairs. 

"  I  believe  I've  got  the  school.  Father  James 
promised  my  father  to-night,"  Maurice  said,  taking 
a  seat. 

Driscoll  stood  up  and  shook  Maurice's  hands. 
"  I'm  gladder  of  that  than  if  you  brought  a 
crock  of  gold  in  on  the  floor  to  me,"  he  said  with 
emotion. 

He  held  the  hands  for  a  while,  gave  them  another 
pressure  before  letting  them  go.  Turning  to  the 
open  turf  box  beside  the  fender,  he  threw  several 
sods  on  the  blazing  fire  and  watched  them  catch  the 
flame. 

"  You  were  always  more  like  a  son  of  my  own 
to  me  than  a  stranger,"  he  said  musingly. 

He  sat  down,  handed  a  pipe  to  Maurice,  and 
filled  and  lighted  the  other.  He  puffed  slowly, 
his  eyes  on  the  glowing  turf  which  lighted  up 
his  strong  rugged  face.  His  mobile  lips  twitched 
a  little,  and  his  bushy  eyebrows  made  curious 
shadows  on  his  broad  forehead.  His  blue  eyes 
had  the  fearless  simplicity  of  a  child's,  and  some 
of  a  child's  depth  of  wonder.  The  front  of  his 
hair,  brushed  straight  up  on  his  forehead,  looked 
dark  in  the  shadow ;  but  behind,  where  it  fell  in 


WAITING  63 

locks  over  his  collar,  the  lamplight  showed  it  to  be 
a  silky  white. 

"  Where  are  you  going  to  live  ? "  he  asked,  with- 
out moving  his  eyes  off  the  fire. 

"  At  home — at  least  until  Tom  marries.  I  dare 
say  I  must  leave  then." 

Driscoll  moved  his  chair  sideways  so  as  to  get 
a  good  view  of  the  room.  About  three-fourths  of 
it  was  covered  with  rush  matting.  The  white  walls 
were  hung  with  steel  engravings  :  Robert  Emmett's 
speech  during  his  trial,  a  sitting  of  the  Irish  House 
of  Commons  during  the  debate  on  the  Union,  Wolfe 
Tone,  a  chalk  drawing  in  profile  of  the  beautiful 
head  of  John  O'Leary,  and  other  patriotic  subjects. 
Well-filled  open  book-shelves  occupied  the  space  on 
both  sides  of  the  front  window,  from  the  floor  to 
the  boarded  ceiling.  A  rough  carpenter's  bench 
stood  under  the  window  at  the  back.  On  it  were  a 
box  of  tools,  two  trays  of  bulbs,  a  bundle  of  what 
looked  like  dried  weeds,  and  a  microscope. 

"  All  I  ever  use  of  this  house  is  the  kitchen  here, 
and  my  bedroom  there,"  pointing  to  a  door  on  the 
left  of  the  fireplace.  "  You  never  saw  the  rooms  at 
the  other  end  ?  " 

Maurice  shook  his  head.  Driscoll  went  to  the 
standing  desk  by  the  front  window,  took  a  key  from 
a  drawer,  hesitated  a  moment,  and  put  it  back. 

"  I'll  show  'em  to  you  another  time.  I'm  too 
happy  to-night  to  do  it,"  he  said,  taking  his  seat 
again.  "  But  if  you  come  and  live  in  'em,  you'll 
give  me  most  of  the  happiness  I'm  likely  to  have  on 
this  side  of  the  grave." 

Maurice  was  deeply  moved.  He  had  heard  of 
the  rooms  ever  since  he  was  a  child.  Rumour, 
starting  from  Bessy  Reilly,  the  old  woman  who 


64  WAITING 

spent  some  hours  every  day  in  what  she  called 
"  doing  for  Master  Driscoll,"  and  what  he  called 
"  messing  my  house  upside  down,"  gave  a  glowing 
description  of  the  two  rooms  and  their  furniture. 
All  Bessy  had  said  was  that  they  were  "  finer 
furnished  than  any  room  in  Father  Mahon's  house 
itself,"  but  this  had  grown  in  other  mouths  to 
"  finer  than  any  room  in  the  castle  of  Dublin  or  in 
Durrisk  Manor  itself."  But  what  moved  Maurice 
was  not  the  offer  of  well-furnished  rooms,  but  the 
offer  of  these  rooms  at  all.  For  it  was  well  known 
that  they  had  been  unused  for  over  thirty  years  ; 
ever  since  Ellen  McRory  died,  a  week  before  the 
day  fixed  for  her  marriage  with  Dan  Driscoll.  They 
had  been  fitted  up  for  her,  and  at  regular  intervals 
since,  Driscoll  aired  and  dusted  them  and  lighted 
fires  in  both  the  sitting  and  bedroom. 

c<  Those  !  "  Maurice  said.  "  I  couldn't  dream 
of  it.  Besides,  you  would  hate  it  ?  " 

Driscoll  smiled  gently.  "  One  time  I  might, 
but  that  was  many  a  year  ago.  If  they're  empty 
now,  it's  because  I'm  a  lonely  man  without  any  one 
to  fill  them.  She  wouldn't  mind  it,  and  why  should 
I  ?"  His  voice  shook  a  little.  He  got  up,  took 
out  the  key  again,  and  taking  the  lamp  in  his  hand, 
unlocked  the  sitting-room  door. 

They  walked  quickly  through  the  small  rooms, 
one  opening  out  of  the  other.  Maurice  had  a 
vague  recollection,  when  they  sat  again  by  the 
kitchen  fire,  of  faded  pink  wall-paper,  a  faded 
Brussels  carpet,  some  mahogany  chairs,  and  a  sofa 
covered  with  black  hair  cloth. 

"There's  many  a  man'd  tell  you,"  the  old  man 
said,  lighting  another  pipe,  "  that  two  of  a  trade 
never  agree,  and  that  you'd  be  more  comfortable 


WAITING  65 

living  away  from  the  man  into  whose  shoes  you 
stepped." 

Maurice  opened  his  lips,  but  Driscoll  held  up 
his  pipe. 

"  Not  a  word  now,"  he  said.  "  Take  time  to 
think — but  if  you  come,  you'll  make  me  a  happy 


man." 


CHAPTER   V 

"  How  is  your  new  assistant  doing  with  you  ? " 
Master  Driscoll  said,  looking  at  the  brilliant  red  ball 
low  on  the  horizon. 

"  It's  a  sign  of  frost,"  he  went  on  without  wait- 
ing for  a  reply,  "  and  it'll  likely  be  a  hard,  dry  night. 
My  rheumatism  is  gone,  I  might  say,  only  that  my 
little  finger  is  crooked  for  good,  I'm  afraid.  I 
might  be  going  with  you  after  all  to  the  Hallow  Eve 
doings  up  at  Reardons'." 

"Of  course  you  will,"  Maurice  said  heartily. 

"  I'm  getting  too  old  for  that  kind  of  merriment." 

"  Nonsense,  it's  young  you're  growing,"  Maurice 
said,  laughing. 

The  old  man  busied  himself  with  the  lamp. 
"  There's  no  strength  to  read  in  the  light  of  the  sky 
on  an  evening  like  this,"  he  said,  lighting  a  match. 
"  It  was  the  luck  of  heaven  that  sent  you  in  on  the 
floor  to  me.  I  didn't  think  I'd  be  alive  nine 
months  after  giving  up  the  school,  and  I'd  have 
moped  myself  to  death  only  for  you.  Having  them 
classes  down  in  the  garden  behind  the  house  here  is 
a  great  God-send  to  me." 

He  moved  about  quietly,  shut  the  door,  drew  the 
curtains,  put  a  kettle  on  the  fire,  and  laid  the  table 
for  tea.  Maurice  cut  bread  and  butter,  and  brought 
a  pot  of  jam  from  a  cupboard  in  the  sitting-room. 

"  We're  going  to  have  a  real  Samhain  feast  of 


WAITING  67 

it,"  Driscoll  said,  taking  a  seat  by  the  fire,  a  book  in 
his  hand. 

Maurice  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  filling  a 
pipe. 

"  I'm  not  keeping  you  from  your  reading  ?  "  the 
old  man  said  uneasily. 

"  Too  strict  you  are  with  me,  if  any.  You're 
worse  than  when  I  was  a  gossoon.  But  I'll  have  a  free 
time  to-night,  no  matter  what  hints  you  give  me," 
Maurice  said  with  mock  severity. 

A  shadow  passed  across  the  old  man's  face. 
"  I'm  not  a  burthen  to  you  in  any  way,  Maurice  ?  I 
hadn't  the  courage  to  put  it  to  you  before,"  he  said 
diffidently. 

Maurice  looked  grave.  "  A  burthen  ?  You're 
more  of  a  help  to  me  than  you  ever  were  in  your 
life  before,  and  that's  saying  a  good  deal.  And 
what's  more,  you're  doing  a  bigger  share  of  the  real 
work  of  the  school  than  I  am,"  he  said,  with  obvious 
sincerity. 

"I've  my  own  opinion  about  that,"  Driscoll 
said,  looking  at  Maurice  affectionately.  "  But 
whether  I'm  a  nuisance  or  a  help,  my  heart  is  easy 
now,  and  I'll  not  open  my  lips  on  the  subject 
again,"  he  went  on  happily.  "  We'll  have  our 
supper  a  little  early,  about  six  or  so,  and  then  we 
can  be  at  the  Reardons'  in  plenty  of  time." 

He  listened  to  the  faint  simmering  of  the  kettle 
for  a  while.  "  It's  far  from  the  boil  yet,"  he  said, 
shutting  the  book  which  he  hadn't  looked  at,  and 
putting  it  on  the  table.  "  As  you're  set  on  doing 
nothing  we  might  as  well  talk  of  one  thing  and 
another  for  a  bit." 

Maurice  lolled  in  his  armchair,  his  feet  on  the 
hob. 


68  WAITING 

"  I  was  asking  you  about  your  new  assistant, 
Miss  Devoy,"  Driscoll  said. 

"  Oh,  the  work-mistress  ?  Not  so  bad  ;  but  she 
thinks  I've  nothing  else  to  do  but  point  her  pencils 
for  her." 

"  She's  that  kind,  is  she  ?  "  Driscoll  said  with  a 
smile.  "  The  glimpse  I  had  of  her  she  looked  as  if 
she  had  an  eager  eye." 

"  The  worst  of  her  is  that  she  doesn't  know  Irish 
or  care  for  it,  and  I  asked  Father  James  to  appoint 
some  one  who  could  take  an  Irish  class." 

"  It's  not  that  she's  thinking  of,  nor  he  either," 
Driscoll  said  chuckling.  "  1 

Thick  steam  had  been  pouring  from  the  spout  of 
the  kettle  for  some  time  ;  n  ow  the  pressure  lifted  up 
the  lid  and  made  it  rattle. 

The  old  man  stopped  speaking  and  jumped  up. 
"  The  tea  won't  be  worth  drinking  unless  I  wet  it 
at  once,"  he  said,  seizing  the  tea  caddy. 

After  tea  they  set  out  for  the  party  at  Reardons'. 
Mrs.  Reardon  had  given  the  invitation  in  the  chapel- 
yard  on  Sunday  before  mass.  "  Any  time  after  the 
cows  are  milked.  Jim  Mescall,  the  blind  fiddler, 
is  coming,  and  he  might  have  some  tale  of  Hallow 
Eve  that  you  never  heard  tell  of  yet,  Master 
Driscoll." 

"  It's  footing  it  to  the  music  ye  young  people'll 
be,  and  not  listening  to  old  tales,"  Driscoll  said,  as 
he  and  Maurice  walked  along  briskly. 

A  benevolent  moon  blinked  at  them  from  a  clear 
sky.  Here  and  there  a  branch  glittered  with  the 
beginnings  of  frost,  and  the  mud  of  the  rutty  road 
crackled  to  their  tread.  The  thin,  windless  air  was 
almost  warm  on  their  cheeks. 

"They've    taken    to    the    Irish    wonderfully," 


WAITING  69 

Maurice  said  defensively,  "and  they're  making  a 
great  success  of  the  bank  and  the  store." 

"  Thank  God,  they're  knocking  fun  out  of  it, 
too.  It  doesn't  make  Tom  less  anxious  for  the 
Irish  that  he  often  has  the  chance  of  reading  out 
of  the  one  book  with  Minnie  Reardon." 

"  I  don't  know,"  Maurice  said  doubtfully. 

"  Wait  till  you  feel  the  like." 

"  My  work  will  always  be  enough  for  me." 

Driscoll  laughed  cheerfully.  "  Young  fellows 
like  you  always  say  that.  You'll  know  the  differ 
when  the  fire  touches  you." 

Half-way  down  the  boreen  which  connected  Larry 
Reardon's  house  with  the  Liscannow  road  they 
heard  the  strains  of  Jim  Mescall's  fiddle  in  a  lively 
jig  tune.  Despite  the  frost  several  young  men 
and  women  stood  around  in  groups  in  front  of  the 
house.  Lamps  on  the  window  sills  of  the  kitchen 
and  the  room  cast  feeble  rays  into  the  moonlight, 
but  inside  the  open  door  a  jug,  the  corner  of  the 
dresser,  hands  and  faces  shone  like  gold  bronze  in 
the  ruddy  glow  of  the  turf  fire. 

"  God  save  all  here,"  Driscoll  said  at  the 
threshold. 

"  And  you  too,  master,  and  the  young  master, 
too.  Ye're  fine  and  early,  thanks  be  to  God,"  Larry 
Reardon  said,  shaking  hands. 

"  You're  making  a  great  place  of  it,  Larry." 

"  It  might  be  worse,"  Larry  said,  standing  back 
and  giving  a  pleased  glance  at  a  new,  two-storied, 
slated  addition  to  the  old  thatched  house.  "  Own- 
ing the  land  gives  a  man  great  courage  in  the  way 
of  building.  If  the  slates  look  down  on  the  thatch 
itself,  it's  cold  comfort  there's  in  them  on  a  winter's 
night.  Sorra  one  of  me'd  sleep  under  a  slate  while 


70  WAITING 

I've  the  thatch  to  cover  me  ;  not  if  you  gave  me  the 
wealth  of  the  world.  But  sure  the  women — the  Lord 
give  'em  sense — think  they're  genteel.  But  let  ye  be 
coming  in.  The  people  aren't  near  gathered  yet, 
and  there's  no  right  face  put  upon  things,  only  Jim 
Mescall  rasping  away  on  the  fiddle  to  pass  the  time 
by  the  way  of  no  harm." 

The  furniture  in  the  kitchen  had  been  pushed 
back  close  to  the  walls.  Guests  sat  on  chairs  and 
tables,  on  the  settle,  and  on  the  hob,  or  lounged 
against  the  dresser  and  cupboards.  The  centre  of 
the  flagged  floor  was  bare  of  everything  except  a 
large  wooden  tub  half-filled  with  water.  Suspended 
from  a  rafter  above  the  tub  were  an  apple  and  a  dip 
candle,  tied  close  together  in  the  forked  loops  of  a 
stout  string  about  five  feet  from  the  floor. 

"  Come  and  sit  beside  me  here,"  Mrs.  Blake 
said  from  the  hearth.  "  By  dint  of  watching,  the 
woman  of  the  house  kept  these  two  seats  for  ye, 
though  'tis  little  either  of  ye  deserves  it,  the  one  for 
deserting  his  old  mother,  and  the  other  for  enticing 
him  off." 

"  Old,  indeed  !  "  Driscoll  said.  "  'Tis  you  had 
the  light  foot  for  a  dance,  Mrs.  Blake,  and  there's 
no  signs  of  it  failing  you  yet." 

"  True  for  you,  master,"  Jack  Hinnissey  said 
from  the  settle.  "  You'll  see  her  footing  it  yet 
before  the  night  is  out." 

"  It's  a  height  of  preparations  they've  made  here, 
anyhow,  for  a  great  night  of  it,"  she  said  graciously. 
"  Who  are  them  within  in  the  room,  Maurice  ? 
You've  better  eyesight  than  me." 

He  looked  at  the  group  around  the  fireplace  in 
the  room,  the  boarded  floor  of  which  had  also  been 
cleared. 


WAITING  71 

"  Minnie  and  her  mother,"  he  said,  "  and 
Hanny  and  Miss  Devoy  and  Mrs.  Crawford  and — 
and  a  strange  girl." 

"  That  must  be  Mrs.  Crawford's  niece — a  girl 
by  the  name  of  Alice  Barton.  Minnie  was  telling 
me  last  night  that  she  was  going  to  ask  her.  She 
wasn't  too  sure  if  she'd  come,  for  her  father  has 
some  grand  situation  in  Dublin,  a  couple  of  hun- 
dred pounds  a  year,  I'm  told,  and  you  never  know 
what  kind  of  airs  them  sort  of  people'll  put  on. 
But  likely  she  takes  after  the  Crawfords — decent 
poor  people,  though  they're  Protestants  itself. 
She's  of  the  same  brand  of  religion  herself,  I  hear  ; 
not  that  that's  agin  her,  poor  thing,  and  she  born  to 
it.  Going  round  the  country,  she  is,  teaching  the 
people  how  to  keep  hens  and  ducks  and  the  like, 
and  some  Government  Board  in  Dublin  paying  her 
big  money  for  doing  it.  A  slip  of  a  girl  like  her  !  " 
she  added  sceptically. 

Maurice  heard  everything  his  mother  said.  But 
all  the  time  he  was  watching  Alice  Barton's  figure, 
at  the  corner  of  the  fender,  silhouetted  against  the 
light.  The  dim  light  of  the  candle  on  the  mantel- 
piece, passing  through  her  loose  hair,  transformed  it 
into  gold.  The  dull  lamp  in  the  window  left  her 
face  almost  in  shadow,  but  the  firelight  caught  her 
curved  chin  and  mouth,  and  the  short  upper  lip  with 
a  touch  of  wilfulness,  and  the  nose  with  the  slightest 
tilt  upwards.  Her  whole  body  seemed  instinct  with 
gracious  curves,  from  her  instep  on  the  fender  to 
the  line  which  her  hair  made  against  her  forehead. 

u  That  girl  of  the  Devoys'  thinks  a  lot  of  her- 
self," Mrs.  Blake  said  critically.  "  It's  no  wonder, 
I  suppose,  and  all  Father  Mahon  is  doing  for  her." 

Maurice's  eyes  wandered   to  the  stocky  figure 


72  WAITING 

beside  Alice  Barton.  The  light,  which  gave  a  warm 
glow  to  Alice  Barton's  profile,  was  reflected  in  a 
harsh  glare  from  the  high  cheek-bones  of  Agnes 
Devoy. 

"  She's  a  relation  of  his,  isn't  she — a  niece  or 
something  ?  "  he  said  indifferently. 

"  Niece,  indeed  !  "  Mrs.  Blake  said,  tossing  her 
head.  "  If  she  was  as  near  as  that  to  him,  he'd  have 
her  married  long  ago  to  a  lawyer  or  doctor  within 
in  Liscannow.  She's  only  a  second  cousin  once  re- 
moved, or  it's  not  a  schoolmistress  he'd  make  of 
her,  and  poor  at  that.  It's  as  plain  as  two  eyes  in 
a  cat  what  he's  aiming  at  in  putting  her  in  on  you  in 
Bourneen.  He  could  have  done  better  for  her  in 
the  way  of  schoolmistressing,  I'm  told,  down  in  the 
Strand  girls'  school,  only  that  he  had  you  in  his  eye 
for  her.  She's  not  much  to  look  at,  but  you  might 
do  worse — easily,"  she  added,  with  a  thoughtful 
frown.  "  It'd  be  a  great  back  to  you  entirely  to 
have  the  priest  for  a  relation." 

"  Hush,  mother  !  "  he  said,  with  a  frown,  "  the 
people'll  hear  you  talking  nonsense." 

Jim  Mescall  had  put  aside  his  fiddle  and  was 
arguing  vigorously  with  Master  Driscoll  on  Hallow 
Eve  traditions.  The  fiddler  said  that  all  the  life 
had  gone  out  of  them  compared  with  what  they 
were  in  his  young  days,  when  he  had  the  sight  in 
his  eyes.  It  was  many  a  long  day  since  the  fairy 
music  was  heard  by  the  blessed  well  on  the  road 
beyond,  as  the  clock  struck  twelve  on  Hallow  Eve 
night.  And  the  things  that  happened  when  you 
passed  lead  through  a  key,  or  looked  into  a  tub  of 
water,  not  to  speak  of  looking  into  the  blessed  well 
under  the  light  of  the  moon,  weren't  lucky  even  to 
talk  about.  The  "good  people"  only  appeared 


WAITING  73 

now  to  a  few  dark  men  like  himself,  who,  he  added 
vehemently,  mightn't  be  so  blind  after  all  as  them 
that  had  eyesight. 

"  I  often  heard  my  father  say — God  rest  his 
soul  " —  Jack  Hinnissey  broke  in,  "  that  the  good 
people  were  put  in  a  temper  because  they  couldn't 
understand  the  drift  of  the  English  that  we  all  took 
to  speaking." 

"  Then  they'll  soon  be  in  humour  again  with  all 
the  Irish  that's  springing  up  everywhere,"  Driscoll 
said  genially. 

"  Yerra,  leave  the  good  people  be — they  don't 
like  being  talked  about,"  Mrs.  Reardon  said, 
approaching  the  fire.  "  Leave  'em  to  Jim  Mescall, 
and  he'll  put  the  comether  on  'em  when  he  starts 
playing  rightly.  It's  the  best  of  friends  he's  with 
'em,  and  he  often  playing  to  'em  in  the  dead  of 
night  under  a  thorn  bush.  Come,  Tom  Blake,  and 
make  a  start  at  diving  for  the  apples." 

"  It's  a  deep  meaning  there's  in  that  itself,  but 
it's  little  any  one  knows  about  it  now,"  Jim  Mescall 
said,  hugging  his  fiddle  between  his  knees,  and 
turning  his  sightless  eyes  towards  the  blaze. 

"  There's  the  height  of  fun  in  it,  anyway,"  Mrs. 
Reardon  said,  taking  a  skib  of  apples  off  the  dresser 
and  throwing  a  few  into  the  tub  of  water. 

"  A  man  might  as  well  begin  to  make  a  fool  of 
himself  first  as  last,"  Tom  said  with  a  grin. 

He  took  off  his  coat  and  waistcoat,  loosened  the 
collar  of  his  shirt,  and  rolled  back  the  sleeves.  Amid 
shouts  of  laughter  he  knelt  on  the  floor  and  tried  to 
catch  one  of  the  floating  apples  with  his  mouth. 
His  head  disappeared  under  the  water,  and  rose 
again,  spluttering,  without  the  apple. 

"  Well  tried,  bedad  !  " 


74  WAITING 

"  Angle  it  in  at  the  side,  Tom." 

"  Try  suction  on  it  ;  the  teeth  is  no  good." 

Advice,  serious  and  derisive,  was  plentiful  from 
the  excited  crowd  surrounding  the  tub.  After  half 
a  dozen  fruitless  efforts  Tom  stood  up,  victorious, 
an  apple  between  his  teeth. 

"  I'd  never  forgive  you  if  you  didn't  get  it," 
Minnie  Reardon  said,  handing  him  a  towel 

He  whispered  in  her  ear.  She  blushed  and 
laughed. 

"  It's  the  cheek  of  the  world  you  have  over  a 
trifle  like  that,"  she  said,  pushing  him  away. 

Young  and  old  followed  one  another  at  the  tub, 
with  varying  success,  but  always  to  the  intense 
enjoyment  of  the  onlookers. 

"  I  love  these  old  customs,"  an  eager  voice  said 
behind  Maurice. 

"  There's  more  sport  in  the  dancing,  though  Jim 
Reardon  wasn't  bad  at  the  apple.  I  suppose  you 
don't  have  the  like  of  this  in  Dublin,  Miss  Barton  ?  " 
his  sister  Hanny  said. 

Before  his  sister  said  the  name  he  had  known  it 
must  be  Miss  Barton.  The  voice  seemed  to  belong 
inevitably  to  the  girl  he  had  seen  in  the  room.  He 
got  up  and  offered  her  his  seat. 

"  My  brother  Maurice,"  Hanny  said. 

Alice  Barton  made  a  little  smiling  bow,  but  said 
that  she  saw  better  standing.  The  tub  was  now 
removed.  She  eagerly  watched  Larry  Reardon  light 
the  candle  beside  the  apple  on  the  string.  He 
twisted  the  string,  let  it  go  suddenly,  and  the  apple 
and  candle  revolved  in  a  wide  circle. 

The  more  adventurous  of  the  company  tried  to 
bite  the  apple  as  it  circled. 

Alice    Barton    caught     Maurice's    arm,      "  It's 


WAITING  75 

dangerous,"  she  said  excitedly,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
candle. 

Her  touch  thrilled  him,  but  he  said  lightly, 
"  The  worst  that  happens  is  a  mouthful  of  unsavoury 
candle  grease." 

"  Oh  !  "  she  said  in  a  relieved  tone,  releasing  her 
hold  on  his  arm,  and  giving  her  whole  attention  to 
the  game. 

Her  hair  was  brown  he  saw  now,  as  he  looked 
her  over  approvingly,  the  brown  that  becomes  gold 
at  the  least  excuse  :  a  stray  strand  on  her  forehead 
sparkled  as  the  firelight  fell  on  it.  Her  eyes 
were  brown  too,  almost  black  in  this  light.  Sad  in 
repose,  because  of  the  shadows  of  her  long  curled 
eyelashes,  they  lit  up  her  whole  face  when  she 
smiled. 

Jim  Mescall  began  to  tune  his  fiddle  impatiently. 

"  Pull  down  the  apple  and  candle  by  accident 
like,  and  then  we  can  have  the  dance,"  Minnie 
Reardon  whispered  to  Tom. 

Before  he  had  made  up  his  mind  as  to  how  the 
accident  was  to  happen,  Mrs.  Reardon  cut  the  string 
with  a  scissors,  saying — 

"  Hand  round  the  apples  and  the  nuts,  Minnie. 
And,  Jim,  you  might  be  loosening  your  fingers  with 
a  tune  while  we're  eating,  so  that  they'll  be  supple 
for  the  dance  tunes." 

"  There's  no  great  call  on  them  to  be  supple 
with  the  people  that's  in  it  now,"  Mescall  said 
gloomily.  "  All  the  old  spirit  has  gone  out  of  their 
limbs.  Besides,  I  might  be  grinding  an  apple  and  a 
nut  myself." 

"  And  there's  a  drop  in  the  bottom  of  a  bottle 
that  might  put  courage  into  you,"  Mrs.  Reardon 
said  soothingly. 


76  WAITING 

"  It  might  then,"  he  said  in  a  more  hopeful  tone. 

The  skib  of  apples  and  a  bowl  of  hazel  nuts  were 
handed  round.  Some  of  the  guests  roasted  their 
apples  on  live  embers  round  the  hearth.  The 
younger  people  put  nuts  beside  the  fire  and  watched 
excitedly  till  they  exploded. 

"  That's  mine,"  Hanny  said. 

"  It  isn't ;  it's  mine,"  Minnie  Reardon  claimed, 
as  a  nut  jumped  into  old  Driscoll's  lap. 

"  I'm  afeared  I'm  done  for  this  Saraft — if  ye  can 
make  up  your  minds  which  of  ye  I'm  bound  to  put 
the  ring  on.  There's  no  going  back  on  a  nut,"  he 
said  solemnly,  his  eyes  twinkling.  "  What  do  you 
say,  Jim  ?  " 

"  There's  more  in  it  than  meets  the  eye  even  of 
a  dark  man,"  Mescall  said  with  interest.  "  Could 
any  one  say  for  certain  who  the  nut  belonged  to  ?  " 

Hanny  and  Minnie  drew  back  blushing.  "  Yerra, 
master,  'tis  you  were  always  a  great  warrant  to  joke," 
Minnie  said  uneasily. 

"  I  call  ye  all  to  witness  that  neither  one  nor 
the  other  of  them'll  have  me,"  Driscoll  said  dole- 
fully. 

In  the  laugh  that  followed  the  girls  escaped,  and 
fussily  helped  Mrs.  Reardon  at  the  dresser. 

"  There,  now,"  she  said  at  last,  "  you  might  tell 
Jim  to  strike  up,  Minnie.  Everything  is  ready. 
There's  buttermilk  and  separated  milk  and,  though 
the  cows  are  going  dry  itself,  a  drop  of  new  milk  for 
the  young  people  that  might  be  thirsty  at  the  dance. 
We  never  had  a  night  of  the  kind  before  without  a 
half-barrel  of  porter,"  she  added,  addressing  some 
guests  near  by,  "  but  the  curate  is  so  much  agin 
porter  sprees  that  we  thought  it  better  to  give  in. 
There'll  be  a  cup  of  tea  for  old  women  like  myself 


WAITING  77 

on  the  table  in  the  corner  of  the  room  ;  and  maybe 
Larry'll  find  something  in  the  cupboard  for  an  odd 
old  man." 

"  I  wouldn't  doubt  Larry  to  get  the  blind  side 
of  the  curate,"  Jack  Hinnissey  said,  laughing. 
"  The  man  that'd  miss  porter  and  he  getting  a  nip 
of  the  hard  stuff'd  be  finding  queer  fault  with  his 
food." 

"There's  no  fault  in  the  curate,"  Tom  Blake 
said  seriously.  "  If  he's  hard  on  the  drink  itself,  it's 
time  some  one  was  down  on  it.  It's  the  parish 
priest  we  ought  to  stand  up  against  if  we  had  the 
courage  of  a  mouse,  and  he  scattering  innocent 
dances  like  this  with  a  stick." 

"  Whist,  Tom.  Miss  Devoy  might  hear  you," 
Mrs.  Reardon  said  anxiously. 

"  Why  did  you  ask  her  here  then  ?  " 

"  Sure  she's  safer  mixed  up  in  an  affair  of  the 
kind  than  maybe  hearing  tell  of  it  and  carrying 
tales,"  Mrs.  Reardon  said,  with  a  shrewd  wink. 

"  There's  only  one  way  to  meet  a  bully,  and 
that's  to  stand  up  to  him,"  Tom  said,  squaring  his 
shoulders. 

"That's  only  gossoon's  talk,  Tom  Blake,"  Mrs. 
Reardon  said  dryly.  "  You're  old  enough  to  know 
better.  What  happened  to  Dick  Fahy  the  time  he 
lifted  his  hand  against  Father  James  ?  Paralysed 
it  was  that  same  night.  I'll  take  right  good  care 
there  won't  be  any  row  with  the  priest  on  my  floor. 
Haven't  I  Tim  Daly,  our  labouring  man,  stationed  on 
the  road  outside  to  give  warning  if  he  hears  the 
noise  of  a  car,  for  fear  it  might  be  Father  James 
going  to  a  sick  call  or  the  like,  so  that  we  could 
stop  down  the  dance  and  Jim  tuck  away  his  fiddle." 

Tom  muttered  something  which  was  lost  in  the 


78  WAITING 

strains  of  "  The  Wind  that  shakes  the  Barley."  After 
a  preliminary  flourish,  while  partners  were  being 
selected,  mostly  by  the  young  women,  Mescall 
settled  down  steadily  to  a  long  programme  of  jigs, 
reels,  and  hornpipes,  with  an  occasional  quadrille 
(though  that  wasn't  rightly  an  Irish  dance,  Mescall 
complained).  The  elders  sat  around  in  small  groups 
and  discussed  politics  and  farming  and  likely 
marriages  for  next  Shrovetide  ;  or,  when  tapped  on 
the  shoulder  by  Larry  Reardon,  accompanied  him 
with  an  air  of  mystery  to  the  room,  and  returned, 
wiping  their  mouths,  prepared  to  take  a  more  genial 
view  of  life.  Jim  Mescall,  playing  with  vigour, 
carried  on  a  whispered  conversation  with  Master 
Driscoll  on  old  Samhain  customs,  that  were  old,  he 
said,  before  St.  Patrick  himself  saw  the  light.  Mike 
Blake  consulted  Maurice  as  to  some  difference  of 
opinion  between  the  agricultural  society  and  the 
agricultural  bank  ;  being  a  director  of  both  he  was 
troubled  as  to  how  he  could  "  divide  up  against 
himself  in  case  he  took  sides."  Maurice  was 
interested  in  the  dispute.  Both  projects  were  linked 
with  his  school,  the  language,  Home  Rule,  in  his 
vision  of  a  new  Ireland.  He  had  already  made  a 
plan  for  the  adjustment  of  this  petty  quarrel.  But 
to-night  it  obstinately  evaded  him.  Only  that 
morning  he  had  thought  it  out  in  all  its  details. 
He  was  secretary  of  the  little  bank  and  had  under- 
taken to  find  a  solution.  He  had  found  it.  But 
where  was  it  now  ?  He  had  the  appearance  of  an 
intent  listener — a  puckered  brow  and  a  far-away 
expression  in  his  eyes.  His  father's  whispering  voice, 
almost  at  his  ear,  seemed  curiously  distant.  He 
caught  the  words  "  bank  "  and  "  store,"  and  sought 
some  meaning  of  them  in  the  smouldering  sods  on 


WAITING  79 

the  hearth,  in  a  shining  old  lustre  jug  on  the  dresser. 
Then  his  eyes  followed  the  movements  of  an  eight- 
handed  reel.  His  brow  cleared  though  his  eyes  were 
not  less  absorbed.  His  father's  voice  became  an 
indistinct  murmur,  a  sort  of  placid  undertone  to  Jim 
Mescall's  music.  Bank  and  store  were  forgotten  in 
the  great  content  with  which  he  watched  the  girl  in 
black  pick  her  way  with  graceful  and  confident  ease 
through  one  of  the  complicated  figures  of  the  dance. 
She  gave  a  charm  even  to  Mescall's  harsh,  staccato 
rasping  on  the  fiddle.  There  was  something  strangely 
pleasant  in  the  swish  of  her  skirt,  in  the  curve  of 
her  arm  as  she  held  out  a  hand  to  a  partner,  in  the 
faint  flush  of  her  cheeks  fading  into  the  deeper 
red  of  her  lips.  For  a  moment  her  eyes  met  his, 
great  lustrous  pools  that  seemed  to  flash  vivid  colour, 
and  then  he  saw  only  the  white  nape  of  her  neck  and 
a  loose  curl.  .  .  . 

"  You're  not  listening  to  a  word  I  say,"  Mike 
Blake  said  loudly,  as  the  music  stopped. 

"  Oh  yes,"  Maurice  said  with  a  happy  smile. 
"  What  you've  got  to  do  is  this.  .  .  ."  It  had  all 
come  back  to  him  in  a  flash  the  moment  the  dance 
had  ended. 

"There's  some  sense  in  what  you  say.  It  shows 
you  were  listening  anyway,  though  I  was  ready  to 
swear  you  weren't.  I  might  do  worse  than  follow 
your  advice,"  Mike  said  ungraciously. 

He  danced  with  her  once.  Her  thin  shoes 
troubled  him.  Wouldn't  her  feet  get  hurt  on  the 
rough  stone  floor  ?  She  smiled.  Dancing  made 
one  forget  all  that.  Jack  Hinnissey  shouted— 

"  Bedad,  'tis  you  have  the  light  foot,  Miss 
Barton.  Like  a  rubber  ball  you  are  touching  the 
floor." 


8o  WAITING 

Maurice  was  a  little  annoyed  by  the  grotesque 
image  ;  but  she  laughed,  and  he  forgot  his  annoyance 
in  the  music  of  the  laugh. 

u  That's  a  great  compliment,"  she  said  demurely. 
"And  he's  the  best  step  dancer  in  the  room  too. 
And  I  never  seeing  a  reel  danced  till  a  year  ago. 
What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  " 

They  were  separated  for  a  moment  and  he  could 
not  say  what  he  thought.  He  bungled  the  figure 
and  brought  a  frown  to  Miss  Devoy's  face,  ignoring 
her  outstretched  hand.  A  year  !  why  he  could 
imagine  her  stepping  into  the  Reardons'  kitchen 
without  ever  having  seen  a  reel  before,  and  dancing 
it  better  than  any  one  there.  But  all  he  said  when 
they  danced  together  again  was — 

"  Where  did  you  learn  ?  " 

"  At  a  Gaelic  League  dancing  class  at  Drum- 
condra." 

He  said  that  he  must  have  been  within  a  few 
steps  of  her  at  the  time — at  the  Training  College. 
She  frowned  at  this,  and  admitted,  on  being 
questioned,  that  she  did  not  think  much  of  Training 
Colleges  :  they  made  machines  of  people,  and  weren't 
in  touch  with  the  real  needs  of  the  country.  He 
spoke  of  Master  Driscoll  :  she  thawed  a  little,  but 
said  maliciously — 

"  He  hadn't  the  soul  ground  out  of  him  in  one 
of  those  training  barracks." 

Meekly  Maurice  put  in  a  defence  for  trained 
teachers — "  there  were  some  who  tried  to  keep  their 
souls." 

"  Maybe  there  are,"  she  said  doubtfully. 

All  this  was  in  snatches.  Dancing  absorbed  her, 
and  speech,  for  the  moment,  was  only  an  incident. 
Long  since  the  dancing  had  ceased  to  matter  for 


WAITING  8 1 

Maurice,  except  as  a  broad  chasm  that  divided  him 
from  the  next  sound  of  her  voice. 

He  swung  her  almost  into  Hanny's  arms  as 
Mescall  drew  the  last  creaking  chord.  Hanny,  who 
had  just  come  in  through  the  open  kitchen  door 
with  Jim  Reardon  in  her  wake,  said  shyly — 

"  There's  a  beautiful  moon  outside,  and  it's  not 
so  stuffy  there  as  in  here." 

"  One  minute  then,  I  mustn't  miss  a  dance," 
Alice  said,  taking  the  shawl  Hanny  offered  her 
and  wrapping  it  round  her  shoulders.  Maurice 
followed  her  out  and  they  stood  in  front  of  the 
door. 

The  ground  was  hard.  The  white  rime  on  the 
grass  and  on  the  bare  trees  sparkled.  In  the  shadow 
of  the  house  Minnie  Reardon  was  bent  over  the  tub 
of  water,  which  had  been  removed  from  the  kitchen 
to  make  room  for  the  dancing. 

"  I  can  see  nothing  but  my  own  image,"  she  said 
regretfully. 

"  I  bet  you  can,  now,"  Tom  Blake  said,  bending 
over  her. 

"  What's  the  good  of  that  when  it's  the  image  of 
your  own  face  I  see,  and  not  of  a  spirit  in  the  like- 
ness of  you  ?  " 

"  As  if  my  own  face  wasn't  better  than  a  spirit's 
any  day." 

"  Be  off  with  you,  now,  out  of  that,"  she  said, 
pushing  him  away,  "  or  some  one'll  see  you." 

"  Sorra  one  of  me  cares  if  the  whole  barony  seen 
me,"  he  said,  kissing  her. 

Minnie  laughed  softly.  After  a  minute  they 
walked  hand  in  hand  towards  the  road. 

Jim  Mescall  began  another  tune.  Maurice 
made  a  movement  to  go  in,  but  Alice  did  not  stir. 

G 


82  WAITING 

Her  eyes   were   fixed    speculatively    on   Tom    and 
Minnie  as  they  disappeared  round  the  gate. 

"  Did  she  expect  to  see  anything  ? "  Alice  said 
in  a  hushed  voice. 

He  looked  at  her  face.  The  excitement  and 
glow  of  the  dance  had  died  away.  In  this  light  her 
face  was  as  cold  as  the  moon.  The  white  priestesses 
of  the  forest,  of  whom  he  had  read  in  some  old  Celtic 
tale,  must  have  looked  like  her,  he  thought,  a  little 
bitterly.  For  years  he  had  seen  the  love-making  of 
Tom  and  Minnie,  had  laughed  at  it  and  thought  it 
foolish.  To-night  it  had  moved  him,  and  he  felt  a 
dull  aching  pain.  .  .  . 

"  Don't  you  believe  in  the  old  powers  ? "  she 
asked,  as  he  remained  silent,  fidgeting  with  his  feet. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said  crossly. 

The  tone  of  his  own  voice  made  him  angry  with 
himself.  Why  should  he  be  angry  with  her  ?  He 
pulled  himself  together  and  said  banteringly — 

"  I  thought  Protestants  had  thrown  over  all  these 
old  beliefs." 

She  looked  at  him  curiously.  "  There  are  older 
things  than  Protestantism,  or  Catholicism  either,  that 
still  move  the  world,"  she  said  musingly. 

"  Oh  !  the  holy  well  on  the  road  below,"  he  said 
lightly.  "  Minnie  Reardon  is  probably  looking  for 
Tom's  image  in  it  this  minute." 

Alice  laughed.  "  She  knows  the  oldest  wisdom 
— perhaps,"  she  said  with  a  slight  shrug,  turning 
indoors. 


CHAPTER   VI 

MASTER  DRISCOLL  was  unusually  silent  on  the  way 
home.  He  mounted  the  cross-roads  hill  without 
stopping  to  admire  the  view,  though  to-night  there 
was  some  excuse  for  a  rest.  Hills  had  begun  to 
tell  on  him.  As  a  rule  he  stood  and  turned  round 
in  the  middle,  or,  if  it  was  a  long  hill,  two  or  three 
times,  and  said  "how  beautiful."  And  this  often 
when  it  was  almost  too  dark  to  see  the  road.  It  was 
only  when  they  reached  the  sharp  rise  near  the  top 
that  he  stood  and  looked  towards  the  sea.  Field  and 
hedgerow  shimmered.  The  thin  line  of  breakers  near 
Liscannow,  and  the  sullen  mountain  behind  the  town 
shone  with  an  illusive  clearness.  The  brilliant, 
frosty  moon  threw  a  mysterious  veil  of  brightness 
over  everything. 

"  Jim  Mescall  thinks  the  old  Ireland'll  die  with 
himself,"  he  said  gloomily. 

"  It  won't.  He's  only  an  old  croaker,"  Maurice 
said,  with  an  abstracted  air. 

"  God  send,"  Driscoll  said  reverently. 

They  walked  on  in  silence,  one  on  each  side  of 
the  road,  deep  in  meditation.  On  any  other  night 
for  the  last  ten  months  this  conversational  opening 
would  have  urged  Maurice  to  the  speech  of  vision  and 
prophecy  ;  but  to-night  he  preferred  to  walk  alone 
with  his  thoughts.  For  the  most  part  they  were 
hardly  thoughts  at  all,  only  mere  flashes  of  memory 


84  WAITING 

—the  turn  of  a  cheek,  the  line  of  an  eyebrow,  and, 
dimly,  how  she  held  and  carried  herself.  Their  last 
words  came  back  to  him. 

"  Will  you  be  long  in  these  parts,  Miss  Barton  ?  " 

And  the  flash  of  her  eyes  as  she  said,  her  head 
turned  slightly,  "  That  depends,  Mr.  Blake.  I'm 
tossed  round  like  a  ball  from  hand  to  hand.  I'm 
lent  to  the  Liscannow  County  Committee,  and  any 
agricultural  society  that  asks  for  me  can  have  me,  I 
believe." 

The  worst  of  it  was,  he  thought,  that  one  didn't 
rightly  know  whether  she  wanted  to  be  asked  for  or 
not.  All  the  girls  he  had  known  hitherto  would 
have  said  a  thing  out  straight,  or  would  have 
pretended  in  such  a  way  that  one  could  see  through 
them  easily.  He  was  not  quite  satisfied  with  this 
generalization.  Were  Minnie  Reardon  and  Miss 
Devoy  and  Hanny  quite  so  simple  ?  Few  women 
in  the  old  Irish  stories  were  simple.  They  often 
looked  one  thing  and  seemed  to  think  another,  and 
then  did  something  entirely  unexpected.  When  he 
tried  to  test  this  by  his  own  experience,  he  suddenly 
realized  that,  until  to-night,  he  had  never  really 
observed  a  woman.  Hanny,  even,  he  did  not  know, 
much  less  Minnie  Reardon.  He  could  not  re- 
member the  colour  of  their  eyes,  nor  their  dress. 
He  had  never  dreamt  of  analysing  what  relation  an 
intonation  in  the  voice,  a  flash  of  the  eye,  bore  to 
their  words  or  thoughts.  Then  he  jumped  to  the 
other  extreme. 

"  There's  a  great  subtlety  in  women,"  he  said 
aloud. 

"  They're  queer  enough,"  Master  Driscoll  said 
vaguely,  as  if  he  was  thinking  of  something  else. 
After  a  pause  he  continued,  "  I  don't  think  myself 


WAITING  85 

there's  much  in  what  Jim  Mescall  says.  There 
ought  to  be  no  fear  of  the  new  things,  banks  and 
stores  and  the  like,  and  Home  Rule  itself,  destroy- 
ing what's  best  in  the  old  ways,  if  we  only  give  'em 
the  proper  graft." 

"  Of  course  not,"  Maurice  said,  somewhat 
impatiently. 

This  was  his  own  favourite  topic  ;  but  now  it 
threatened  a  train  of  thought  that  he  had  found 
pleasantly  disturbing.  He  had  a  sudden  illumina- 
tion. There  was  a  connection  between  Master 
Driscoll's  thoughts  and  his  own — at  least  they 
could  be  made  to  connect. 

"  We  ought  to  have  an  egg  and  poultry  society 
in  Bourneen,"  he  said  emphatically. 

Driscoll  sighed.  "  We  ought,  indeed,"  he  said. 
"  I  often  thought  of  showing  the  people  the  way  by 
putting  up  a  fowl-run  at  the  end  of  the  garden. 
But  I  always  shirked  it,  God  forgive  me,  through 
not  knowing  much  of  the  habits  of  hens  and  the 
like,  except  out  of  books." 

He  opened  the  cottage  door  as  he  finished 
speaking,  lit  the  lamp,  raked  the  ashes  off  the  live 
turf  in  the  grate,  and  put  on  a  few  sods. 

"  I  think  I'll  sit  up  awhile,"  he  said,  taking  a 
seat.  "  To-morrow — to-day,  by  the  same  token," 
glancing  at  the  clock,  u  is  a  holiday,  and  I'll  be  time 
enough  in  the  morning  if  I  catch  second  mass." 

He  yawned  and  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  fire. 
"  The  hens  are  heavy  on  my  mind,"  he  said  after  a 
while.  "  It's  too  little  is  done  for  the  labouring 
men,  with  all  that's  done  for  the  farmers  ;  and  that 
society'd  be  making  some  sort  of  a  start  for  them." 

Maurice  told  him  of  Miss  Barton  and  the 
possibility  of  getting  her  as  instructor. 


86  WAITING 

"The  very  thing.  It's  God  sent  her  into  the 
parish,"  Driscoll  said,  striking  his  hand  on  his  leg. 
"  At  the  next  meeting  of  the  committee  I'll  move 
that  we'll  put  in  an  application  for  her.  A  fine  girl 
she  is,  with  a  laugh  that  made  my  own  old  heart 
jump.  She's  learning  the  Irish  too,  and  knows  more 
about  the  Red  Branch  than  I  do  myself — we  had  a 
great  seanachus  by  the  fire,  though  she  never  let  on 
to  me  what  her  business  was." 

"  I  think  she'll  do,"  Maurice  said  with  judicial 
coldness,  his  nerves  reacting  to  the  excitement  with 
which  he  awaited  the  old  man's  decision. 

"  Do  !  "  Driscoll  said  indignantly.  "  What  are 
ye  young  fellows  coming  to  ?  God  knows  I  ought 
to  be  tired  of  schools,  but  I'd  begin  all  over  again, 
from  the  alphabet,  if  I  had  the  chance  of  learning 
from  her.  Go  off  to  bed  out  of  that !  It's  lumps 
of  ice  ye  all  have  where  your  hearts  ought  to  be." 

He  caught  up  the  poker  and  shook  it  at 
Maurice,  who  gave  a  pleased  laugh  at  the  turf, 
which  had  now  begun  to  flare. 

The  humorous  gleam  in  Driscoll's  eyes  gave 
place  to  a  thoughtful  stare  as  he  laid  down  the  poker. 

"  I  forgot  that  she's  a  Protestant,"  he  said  in  a 
troubled  tone. 

Maurice  at  once  fired  up.  "  It  doesn't  make  a 
pin's  difference,"  he  said  excitedly.  "  The  people 
are  above  that  nonsense  now."  He  stood  up  and 
kicked  in  a  sod  that  was  tumbling  over  the  grate. 
"  See  what  happened  when  an  attempt  was  made  to 
start  the  Erinites  in  the  parish.  My  father  himself, 
though  he  doesn't  take  much  interest  in  politics 
since  he  bought  the  land,  was  against  it.  And  you 
should  hear  Tom  at  the  meeting  !  1  was  proud  of 
him  being  my  brother.  *  The  Crawfords  and  the 


WAITING  87 

Levises  and  the  Barbers,'  he  said,  'go  to  church  on 
a  Sunday,  and  we  go  to  mass  ;  but  apart  from  that 
there  aren't  better  neighbours  in  the  barony — the 
first  to  help  at  a  threshing  and  a  potato  digging. 
Is  it  set  up  a  friendly  society  ye  would  that'd  shut 
the  door  on  Emmet  and  Wolfe  Tone  and  Mitchell 
and  Parnell,  not  to  mention  the  living  ?  Friendly  ! ' 
he  said,  and  I  never  saw  such  scorn  on  the  face  of  a 
man  before.  '  We'll  have  no  society  in  this  parish 
that'd  exclude  our  decent  Protestant  neighbours. 
We '  " 

"Oh,  I  know  they  routed  it,"  Driscoll  inter- 
rupted. "  The  people  are  right  enough  in  this 
parish.  I  wasn't  thinking  of  them.  'Twas  Father 
James  I  had  in  my  mind." 

"  Oh,  him  !  "  Maurice  said  more  quietly,  as  if 
ashamed  of  his  outburst.  "  Fortunately  for  her, 
she's  not  under  the  National  Board.  What  has  he  to 
do  with  her  ?  " 

"  It'd  be  hard  to  bring  religion  into  hens  and 
ducks,  that's  true,  though  I  wouldn't  put  it  past 
him  if  he  took  the  notion,"  Driscoll  said,  smiling 
again.  "  I  suppose  I'm  still  in  dread  of  him,  though 
I'm  out  of  his  hands  itself.  The  way  he  used  to  tower 
over  me  when  I  had  anything  good  to  propose,  shout- 
ing '  Remember  I'm  your  manager  and  the  priest  of 
the  parish  !  I'll  have  none  of  it.'  And  often  opposite 
the  boys  too,"  he  added  sadly.  "  It's  a  wonder  they 
ever  had  any  respect  for  me." 

"  It's  not  you  they  lost  respect  for,"  Maurice 
said  bitterly. 

"  I  had  no  right  at  all  to  be  mentioning  the  like 
of  that.  Tut,  tut  !  I'm  getting  like  any  old  maid  with 
a  cutting  tongue,"  the  old  man  said,  standing  up  and 
lighting  a  candle.  "  There,  take  that  now,  and  don't 


88  WAITING 

be  keeping  it  alight  all  night  wearing  out  your  eyes 
reading.  And  forget  what  I  said  about  Father 
James — I've  long  since  left  him  to  God." 

Maurice  was  soon  in  bed.  He  extinguished  the 
candle,  forgot  all  about  Father  Mahon,  but  he  could 
not  sleep.  He  shut  his  eyes,  and  saw  Alice  Barton 
in  her  toque,  which  seemed  to  bring  some  new 
beauty  of  her  face  into  relief ;  he  opened  them,  but 
she  was  still  there,  her  big  pleading  eyes  bent  on 
Jack  Hinnissey,  who  had  refused  even  Mrs.  Reardon 
to  wind  up  the  dance  with  his  famous  exhibition  of 
hornpipes  on  a  half-door.  He  heard  again  Jack 
Hinnissey's  "Bedad,  I'll  do  it  to  please  you,  miss." 
He  took  part,  as  vividly  as  when  it  happened,  in 
taking  down  the  half-door — "  off  the  dairy,  not  the 
house,  for  that's  only  just  been  new  painted,"  he 
again  heard  Mrs.  Reardon  say  excitedly.  And  such 
hornpipes  no  one  ever  saw  before  in  Bourneen  ! 
Alice's  eyes  glowed  with  excitement,  and  even  Jim 
Mescall  said,  as  he  put  down  the  fiddle,  "  I  didn't 
think  there  was  a  man  in  these  days  that  had  it  in 
him — and  age  creeping  upon  Jack  Hinnissey  too, 
and  he  the  father  of  four."  For  a  long  time  he 
heard  only  the  rattle  of  the  half-door  on  the  stone 
floor  and  the  quick  stepping  of  agile  feet,  and,  was 
it  Jack  Hinnissey's  voice  miles  away  ?  "  Resin  your 
elbow,  Jim,  and  let  the  bow  fly."  Then  there  was 
only  the  old  woman,  the  Ireland  of  the  sad  songs, 
sitting  by  a  fireless  hearth,  her  head  bent  on  her 
knees.  Soon  a  fire  glowed,  the  bent  shoulders 
straightened,  the  scant  grey  locks  changed  to  a 
ruddy  brown.  She  turned  her  face  towards  him, 
and  he  felt  no  surprise  that  the  dream  woman  was 
Alice  Barton.  .  .  . 

He  awoke  and  laughed  ;  it  was  absurd  that  she 


WAITING  89 

should  remind  him  of  the  dream  woman,  he  said  to 
himself.  It  seemed  less  absurd  as  he  drew  up  the 
blinds  in  the  kitchen  and  made  the  fire,  noiselessly, 
lest  he  should  awaken  Driscoll  in  the  room  beyond. 
It  seemed  quite  natural  as  he  let  himself  out  quietly 
to  nine  o'clock  mass.  Hair  and  eyes  were  alike  in 
both  ;  this  resemblance  must  have  made  him  notice 
Alice  at  first.  Afterwards,  of  course,  she  appealed 
to  him  because  she  was  interested  in  Irish  things, 
in  the  language,  in  old  Irish  dancing  and  folk  songs, 
and  because  she  worked  for  Ireland.  .  .  . 

He  felt  unaccountably  jumpy  as  he  walked  the 
short  distance  to  the  chapel.  He  was  greeted  by 
several  people  on  their  way  to  mass,  and  always  he 
responded  nervously,  expecting  somehow  that  each 
voice  would  be  hers.  Not,  he  thought,  that  any 
one  could  mistake  the  somewhat  harsh  Bourneen 
brogue  for  her  delightful  accent  which,  while  dis- 
carding the  flatness  of  Bourneen  and  the  pressure, 
as  if  through  an  overgrowth  of  adenoids,  that 
characterized  the  speech  of  Dublin  as  he  remembered 
it,  retained  all  the  music  of  both,  and  had  an  added 
beauty  that  was  peculiarly  its  own. 

Her  voice  would  be  a  great  asset  :  it  would 
draw  people  to  her  lectures.  There  was  no  telling 
the  influence  for  good  it  would  have  on  all  the 
progressive  movements  in  the  parish.  He  sat  at 
the  end  of  a  bench  in  the  cold  chapel  and  con- 
gratulated himself  on  seeing  her  usefulness  so  clearly. 
He  drew  further  inspiration  from  the  shuffling  and 
coughing  all  around,  signs  of  impatient  waiting  for 
Father  James,  who  was  a  little  late ;  from  the 
frosted  breaths  of  the  worshippers,  beginning  in 
fantastic  puffs  and  spirals  and  coalescing  into  a 
grey  haze  that  enveloped  the  whole  congregation  ; 


90  WAITING 

from  the  two  touzled  boys,  only  half  awake,  who 
lighted  the  reluctant  candles  on  the  altar.  When, 
after  much  uncertain  jabbing  with  the  long  tapers,  the 
last  candle  was  lighted,  he  had  come  to  a  decision 
to  see  her  that  very  day,  to  give  her  timely  notice 
that  the  parish  would  probably  demand  her  services  ; 
otherwise,  and  the  thought  arrested  the  visible  breath 
he  was  exhaling  at  the  moment  and  seemed  to 
congeal  it,  she  might  make  some  other  engagement 
and  so  be  lost  to  the  parish.  It  was  his  bounden 
duty,  he  felt,  to  do  everything  in  his  power  to  prevent 
the  possibility  of  that  calamity  ;  he  must  see  her  at 
once. 

He  joined  in  the  relieved  sigh  with  which  the 
congregation  greeted  the  appearance  of  Father  James 
at  the  vestry  door,  the  chalice,  of  necessity,  held  well 
in  front  of  his  commanding  figure.      He  read  his 
Prayer-book  diligently  during  mass.     By  turning  a 
page  quickly,  or  by  looking  at  the  altar,  he  managed 
to  brush  away  a  disconcerting  strand  of  gold  brown 
hair  or  a  laughing  brown  eye  that  occasionally  came 
between  him  and  the  print.     For  one  brief  moment 
of  distraction  he  reflected  that,   when  he  was  not 
actually   controlling  his   thoughts,   it    was    not  her 
usefulness  which  recalled  her  to  him,  but  some  little 
nuance  of  appearance,  of  speech,  of  gesture.     He 
was  elaborating  a  rational  explanation  of  this  when 
the  server's  bell  reminded  him  of  the  mystery  at  the 
altar.     He  bowed  his  head.     Gradually  all  sounds 
ceased.     He  forgot  even  the  aggressive  personality 
of  Father  Mahon,  at  whom  he  peered  unconsciously 
through  the  slits  between  his  fingers,  in  the  deep 
hushed  silence  that  filled  the  church.     The  feeling 
of  peace  that  always  came  to  him  at  the  consecration 
of  the  mass  had   to-day  some   new  wonder  in  it. 


WAITING  91 

Even  when  the  sounds  began  anew,  snuffling  and 
coughing  and  shuffling  that  had  often  worried  him 
in  the  past,  he  hardly  noticed  them  in  the  gladness 
and  joy  that  filled  him.  The  Pater  Noster  and  the 
Communion  had  a  fresh  significance.  The  sun- 
light that  broke  through  the  tawdry  glass  in  the  east 
window  as  Father  James  was  purifying  the  chalice 
seemed  to  sing  to  his  heart. 

As  he  resumed  his  seat  to  await  the  sermon  he 
had  a  consciousness  of  life  such  as  he  felt  only  on 
rare  occasions — when  he  heard  the  first  birds  twitter 
after  dawn,  or  when  he  stood  entranced  and  alone  on 
the  high  pass  behind  Liscannow  on  a  late  summer 
afternoon,  the  mountains  beyond  clad  in  different 
shades  of  purple,  and,  at  his  feet,  the  shining  track 
of  the  sun  on  the  sea.  He  was  tolerant  of  every  one 
and  of  everything.  He  even  smiled  as  Father 
Mahon  jerked  his  chasuble  over  his  head,  flung  it  on 
the  altar,  turned  round,  faced  the  congregation  with 
a  fierce  frown,  pulled  up  the  sleeves  of  his  alb  as  if 
preparing  for  a  prize  fight,  and  shouted  "  Dearly 
beloved  brethren." 

His  thoughts  wandered  again  to  his  project  of 
seeing  Miss  Barton  during  the  day.  He  was  worry- 
ing over  the  hour  of  his  visit  when  a  snigger  from 
Jim  Reardon,  who  sat  in  front  of  him,  made  him 
listen  to  the  sermon. 

"  Hallow  Eve  dances,  indeed  !  Looking  for 
sweethearts  in  wells  and  tubs  of  water  1  Night 
walking  and  trapesing  the  parish  under  shawls  in 
the  dead  of  night.  I'll  put  it  down.  I  hope  no 
Catholic  house  in  this  parish  was  disgraced  by  such 
a  gathering  last  night — sowing  the  seed  of  the  devil 
in  its  track.  That's  what  learning  Irish  comes  to,  a 
language  that's  no  use  to  man  or  mortal — an  excbse 


92  WAITING 

for  sweethearting  and  sin.  Revive  old  customs, 
indeed  !  Every  one  of  'em  sprung  from  the  devil 
himself.  For  what  were  the  heathen  pagans  that 
invented  them  but  children  of  the  devil !  Fathers 
and  mothers  of  families,  take  heed  of  what  I  say, 
and  keep  your  children  from  these  dance  houses 
of  sin  and  infamy.  They'll  be  choosing  wives 
and  husbands  for  themselves  next,  and  you  know 
what  that  means  !  maybe  bringing  a  penniless  girl 
in  on  the  floor  to  you.  Love,  indeed  !  I  never 
knew  any  good  to  come  of  it  but  sin  and  harm 
and  unsuitable  marriages.  Young  men  and  young 
women,  the  only  lucky  marriages  are  the  mar- 
riages made  for  you  by  your  parents  and  your 
friends  with  the  full  blessing  of  the  priest  of  the 
parish." 

Father  James  worked  himself  up  to  a  high  pitch 
of  excitement.  He  frothed  at  the  mouth,  relapsed 
into  the  broadest  brogue,  and  wound  up  with  a  vivid 
picture  of  the  hell  that  awaited  those  who  refused  to 
be  said  by  their  priests  ;  describing  in  detail  the 
torments  of  a  sinful  soul  gripping  frantically  with 
lacerated  fingers  at  the  molten  metal  of  a  sloping 
lead  roof  in  a  fruitless  effort  to  save  himself  from 
slipping  into  a  pit  of  brimstone  beneath. 

Use  had  dulled  Maurice  to  the  description  of 
these  horrors,  the  invariable  peroration  of  every 
sermon.  He  had  even  listened  to  denunciations  of 
dances  and  of  love  in  previous  sermons  without 
having  been  particularly  moved.  But  to-day  he 
burned  with  indignation.  It  was  infamous  to  speak 
like  that  of  the  girls  who  were  at  the  dance  last 
night.  .  .  .  He  caught  sight  of  Miss  Devoy  in  the 
women's  side  of  the  nave.  Arranged  marriages, 
indeed  !  he  thought  angrily.  Not  that  foolish  talk 


WAITING  93 

ought  to  trouble  him.     He  had  no  time  to  think  of 

o 

marriage,  and  no  desire  .  .  . 

He  tried  to  escape  the  group  of  talkers  in  front 
of  the  chapel  after  mass.  His  mother  ran  after  him 
and  caught  his  arm. 

"  You  might  drop  in  after  dinner  if  you  can  at 
all,"  she  said. 

"  I'm  very  busy,  but  I'll  try,"  he  said  moodily. 

"  Bedad,  master,"  Jack  Hinnissey  said  from 
another  group,  "  he  flailed  all  round  him  to-day." 

"  I'm  that  used  to  the  geography  of  hell  that  I 
could  find  my  way  blindfolded  in  it  after  that," 
Larry  Reardon  said. 

"  The  best  chance  you  have,  if  you've  the  mis- 
fortune to  go  there,  is  to  sit  still,  I'm  told,"  Mike 
Blake  said,  lighting  his  pipe.  "  If  you  try  to  hop 
out  of  one  torment,  you're  sure  to  hop  into  a  worse. 
Not  but  there  was  a  good  deal  of  sense  in  what  he 
said  about  marriages." 

"  There  wasn't  sense,  nor  rhyme,  nor  reason  in 
it,"  Tom  Blake  said  bluntly. 

Mike  was  gesticulating  violently  with  his  pipe 
in  preparation  for  a  spirited  reply,  when  a  tactful 
neighbour  interposed. 

"  How  many  tons  of  spuds  did  you  draw  off 
that  lea  land  you  ploughed,  Mike  ?  " 

Mike's  face  assumed  a  look  of  worried  calculation. 

Mrs.  Blake  sighed.  "  It'll  be  all  hours  of  the 
day  before  we  get  our  breakfast  if  Mike  once  gets 
rightly  started  on  that  lea  field,"  she  said  fretfully. 
Drawing  Maurice  aside  she  whispered  :  "  You  won't 
forget  to  drop  in,  agra.  I  have  something  in  my 
eye  for  you." 

Father  Mahon  passed  out  with  long  strides,  his 
soutane  swishing  against  his  legs.  The  women 


94  WAITING 

curtseyed.  The  men  took  off  their  hats  and  stood 
bareheaded,  their  pipes  held  discreetly  behind  their 
backs.  The  priest  gave  a  few  jerky  nods. 

"  He's  pleased  enough  with  the  lambasting  he 
gave  us,"  Jack  Hinnissey  said. 

"  Exercising  himself  for  his  breakfast  he  was. 
He  might  as  well  try  and  stop  the  tide  beating 
against  the  Liscannow  cliffs  beyond  as  to  try  to 
hinder  what's  going  on  in  the  country  now,"  Tom 
Blake  said  angrily. 

"  Whist,  Tom,"  Mike  said,  leaving  a  sentence 
about  potatoes  unfinished.  "  Young  fellows  have 
long  tongues  and  little  sense." 

"  They  don't  be  chewing  the  truth  in  their  jaws, 
anyway,  afraid  to  utter  it." 

Mike  pretended  not  to  hear  Tom's  retort,  and 
resumed  his  dissertation  on  potatoes. 

"  Bedad,  you  had  him  there,  Tom,"  Jack 
Hinnissey  said,  admiringly.  "  Besides,  sure  Father 
James  isn't  the  Pope  himself,  that  puts  the  kybosh 
on  a  thing  the  moment  he  speaks  the  word,  I'm 
told.  For  the  matter  of  that,  there's  things  I  could 
teach  him  myself.  I  wouldn't  give  ten  pounds  for 
the  spavined  colt  he  gave  thirty  for  the  other  day. 
And  his  opinion  on  a  bullock,  with  all  he  has  of 

'em,  isn't  worth  that "  spitting  on  the  ground. 

"  And  the  whole  world  knows  the  curate  is  agin 
him  in  most  of  what  he  said  to-day.  Barring  that 
I  hadn't  the  right  of  the  clergy  to  throw  hell  in 
your  faces,  1  often  made  a  more  sensible  speech 
myself  in  the  Land  League  days." 

"  Faith,  then,  you  did." 

"  'Tis  your  tongue  is  well  oiled  still,  Jack." 

"  The  day  is  long  yet.     Go  on,  Jack." 

Maurice   withdrew    from    the    small   crowd    of 


WAITING 


95 


admiring  listeners  that  was  circling  round  Hinnissey. 
His  mother  again  pressed  his  arm  and  said,  "  Don't 
forget."  At  the  gate  of  the  chapel  yard  he  almost 
ran  into  Miss  Devoy. 

"  I'm  waiting  for  your  mother,"  she  said 
timidly. 

He  flushed.  She  went  on  speaking,  but  he 
didn't  hear  what  she  said.  He  seemed  to  see 
her  for  the  first  time.  The  high  colour  on  her 
cheek-bones  had  become  a  dark  blue  purple.  A 
light  blue  bow  in  the  front  of  her  ungainly  hat 
made  her  cheeks  livid.  She  tapped  the  ground  with 
her  umbrella,  held  nervously  in  hands  covered  with 
white  cotton  gloves  several  sizes  too  large.  Streaks 
of  purple  wrist  appeared  between  the  gloves  and  the 
short  sleeves  of  her  serge  coat.  Her  thick  lips  and 
grey  eyes  gave  a  hint  of  humour  when  she  smiled, 
and  she  was  smiling  broadly  now. 

So  this  was  the  girl  people  were  saying  that  he 
should  marry,  he  thought.  He  looked  at  her  eyes 
again  and  liked  them.  They  were  kind  eyes  and  it 
did  not  matter  that  the  lashes  were  few  and  straight 
and  short.  A  feeling  of  friendliness  for  her  came 
over  him.  She  looked  so  forlorn  and  cold  and  ugly 
in  spite  of  her  good-humoured  lips  and  eyes.  He 
pitied  her  and  reproached  himself  for  not  being 
kinder  to  her  in  the  school.  She  was  just  the  sort 
of  girl  Miss  Barton  could  help  .  .  . 

He  noticed  that  she  had  stopped  speaking. 

"  I  thought  you  always  went  to  mass  at  the 
Strand  chapel,"  he  said,  after  groping  round  for 
something  to  say. 

"  Sure  that's  what  I  was  telling  you.  I  came 
here  on  account  of  your  mother  asking  me  to  spend 
the  day." 


96  WAITING 

He  laughed  boyishly.  She  laughed  too.  The 
spirit  died  out  of  his  laugh  as  he  watched  and  heard 
her.  Her  crinkled  eyes,  half  shrewd,  half  humorous, 
seemed  to  share  some  secret  with  him,  and  her  laugh 
had  an  understanding  ring.  He  had  begun  to  laugh 
at  a  sudden  recognition  of  what  struck  him  as  a 
grotesque  attempt  of  his  mother  at  match-making. 
But  Miss  Devoy's  laugh  made  a  cold  shudder  run 
down  his  back.  Did  she  know  his  mother's  plans  ? 
Surely  his  mother  hadn't  spoken  to  her  ?  The 
whole  idea  was  absurd.  He  wrinkled  his  brows  in 
a  search  for  resonant  condemnatory  adjectives — 
ridiculous,  preposterous,  impossible.  He  laughed 
again  a  little  shrilly. 

"  Father  James  got  out  the  wrong  side  of  the 
bed  to-day,"  she  said  pleasantly. 

He  didn't  wish  to  discuss  Father  James  with 
her,  and  was  relieved  to  see  his  mother  approach — 
a  relief,  however,  that  lasted  only  till  she  spoke. 

"That's  right — having  a  little  chat,"  she  said 
amicably. 

He  gave  a  wry  smile,  made  a  muttered  excuse  of 
having  to  get  the  master's  breakfast,  and  hurried 
away.  For  a  few  paces  he  was  angry  with  his 
mother.  He  should  have  to  put  a  stop  to  her 
nonsense  :  he  wouldn't  go  home  that  afternoon,  he 
resolved  with  a  frown.  The  sight  of  Master  Driscoll 
standing  bareheaded  at  the  open  door  of  the  cottage, 
the  sun  glinting  from  his  white  locks,  made  him 
smile — a  smile  at  his  own  foolishness. 

"  Seeing  that  I've  no  notion  of  getting  married, 
I'm  only  bothering  over  nothing,"  he  said  to  himself, 
with  a  shrug. 

"  You  stole  a  march  on  me  this  morning,"  the 
old  man  said  ;  "  but  I've  stolen  another  on  you," 


WAITING  97 

pointing  to  the  table  which  was  laid  for  breakfast. 
"  I  put  on  the  eggs  the  minute  I  caught  sight  of 
you.  They'll  be  done  before  you're  rightly  sitting 
down. 

"  Was  it  hell,  or  the  Sea  of  Galilee,  or  the 
dignity  of  the  priesthood,  or  Purgatory,  or  the  dues, 
he  gave  you  to-day  ?  He  used  to  have  another 
sermon  on  Faith,  but  I  haven't  heard  it  for  the  last 
dozen  years — I  suppose  it  has  slipped  his  memory," 
Driscoll  continued,  as  he  lifted  a  small  pot  off  the 
fire  and  ladled  four  eggs  into  a  saucer  with  an  iron 
spoon. 

"He  gave  us  hell  all  round,"  Maurice  said 
laughing. 

"  I  always  slept  less  under  it  than  under  the 
others.  Itself  and  the  one  on  the  dues  are  the  only 
two  sermons  that  rouse  him  to  the  pitch  of  keeping 
me  awake.  He'll  be  after  the  mass  offerings  to- 
morrow, so  we'll  have  Purgatory.  Not  but  it's 
fitting  enough  for  All  Souls'  Day  if  only  he  didn't 
sound  the  drum  so  loud  for  the  money,"  Driscoll 
said,  taking  his  seat  and  breaking  the  top  of  an  egg 
with  much  care.  "  He'll  soon  have  it  as  brimstony 
as  hell  itself  if  he  goes  on  trimming  it  up  with 
any  more  torments,  to  soften  the  heart  into  an  extra 
five  shillings  towards  the  relief  of  the  poor  souls. 
May  God  forgive  me  for  making  light  of  their 
sufferings." 

At  his  second  cup  of  tea  he  said  :  "  I  was  awake 
half  the  night  thinking  of  that  girl  up  at  the 
Crawfords.  We  must  get  her  at  any  cost." 

The  hand  with  which  Maurice  was  holding  his 
cup  to  his  lips  shook  and  some  of  the  tea  was  spilled 
on  his  waiscoat. 

"  Bother  it,"  he  said  nervously. 

H 


98  WAITING 

"  If  there's  any  fault  I  see  in  you,  Maurice," 
the  old  man  said,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  "  it  is 
that  you  don't  give  credit  enough  to  women  for  the 
power  of  good  they're  able  to  do  if  their  mind  is  set 
on  it.  You're  not  half  so  eager  to  get  that  girl  to 
help  us  as  you  ought  to  be." 

Maurice  said  doubtfully,  "  Maybe  I'm  not." 


CHAPTER   VII 

WHEN  Driscoll  left  for  second  mass,  Maurice  settled 
down  with  a  pipe  to  the  bank  accounts.  More  than 
the  creamery  or  the  agricultural  society,  the  little 
parish  bank  interested  him.  More  even  than  the 
Bourneen  branch  of  the  United  Irish  League,  in 
whose  proceedings  he  had  a  deep  concern,  partly 
since,  under  the  rules  of  the  Education  Board, 
politics  were  a  forbidden  pleasure,  partly  because  he 
had  notions  on  politics  that  he  had  a  hankering  to 
submit  to  practical  tests.  But  the  bank  was  his  own 
pet  child.  Bourneen  was  a  comparatively  rich  parish 
of  tillage  land,  pasture  and  grazing.  The  majority 
of  the  farms  ranged  from  twenty  acres  to  fifty  ;  a  few 
were  close  on  a  hundred  acres  ;  mixed  land  for  the 
most  part,  good,  middling,  and  poor,  but  capable  of 
yielding  a  comfortable  subsistence.  Along  the  bog, 
however,  on  the  east  of  the  parish,  and  stretching  up 
a  spur  of  Slieve  Mor,  were  many  small  holdings  of 
reclaimed  bog  and  mountain  on  which  life  was  a 
constant  struggle.  And,  by  the  sea,  twenty  or 
thirty  families  depended,  half  on  miserable  strips  of 
bottom,  half  on  precarious  fishing  in  small  boats 
on  an  unsafe  shore.  The  Land  Purchase  Act  had 
done  something  to  better  the  condition  of  all  the 
farmers,  but  it  had  done  least  for  the  poorer,  and 
nothing  at  all  for  a  score  of  landless  labourers. 
When,  through  Master  Driscoll's  efforts,  several 


ioo  WAITING 

co-operative  societies  were  started  Maurice  feared  for 
awhile  that  the  hoary  principle,  "  to  those  that  have 
more  shall  be  given,"  would  mark  their  work.  But 
gradually  their  influence  extended  to  the  cotter  on 
the  edge  of  the  bog,  to  the  labourer's  patch  of 
garden,  to  the  fisherman's  boat. 

Driscoll  had  said  at  a  committee  meeting, 
"  We've  a  long  road  to  go  yet,  but  we're  making 
a  real  beginning  at  last.  What  Maurice  Blake  has 
done  with  that  bank,  since  he  became  secretary  near 
a  year  ago,  is  beyond  telling." 

"  Isn't  he  your  own  rearing,  if  he  did  itself  ? 
Not  but  the  whole  world  knows  he  has  a  head  on 
him,"  was  Jack  Hinnissey's  comment. 

The  items  in  the  books  that  gave  a  pleasant 
flavour  to  Maurice's  pipe,  and  caused  him  to  give 
low  chuckles  of  satisfaction,  might  have  provoked  a 
regular  banker  to  a  cynical  smile.  Twenty-five 
shillings  to  Mike  Fahey  to  buy  a  sow  bonham — paid 
back  in  full  later,  on  selling  a  litter  of  seven  pigs  ; 
six  pounds  advanced  on  the  date  of  repayment  to  buy 
a  yearling  heifer.  Two  pounds  to  Jimmy  Delaney  for 
basic  slag — to  be  paid  when  the  crop  was  reaped. 
Twelve  pounds  to  four  Strand  fishermen  towards 
the  purchase  of  a  Greencastle  yawl  ;  four  pounds 
paid  back  "  after  the  big  haul  of  herrings  on  the  4th 
August." 

The  arrival  of  Bessy  Reilly,  to  clean  up,  inter- 
rupted him.  He  refilled  his  pipe  and  walked 
bareheaded  in  the  small  garden  in  front.  All  signs 
of  frost  had  gone,  except  a  few  blackened  sprigs 
of  heliotrope  and  some  faded  calceolarias.  The 
chrysanthemum  blooms  along  the  wall  of  the  cottage 
opened  wide  to  the  sun  ;  the  canvas  which  protected 
them  from  the  frost  having  been  rolled  up  neatly  by 


WAITING  101 

Master  Driscoll  before  going  to  mass.  Maurice 
gazed  long  at  the  flowers,  but  thought  of  a  poultry 
society.  Soon  there  would  be  entries  in  the  bank 
books  of  Buff  Orpingtons  and  Indian  Runner  ducks. 
His  thoughts  wandered  to  Alice  Barton.  If  she 
came  to  help  in  the  parish,  things  must  be  made  as 
pleasant  as  possible  for  her.  A  young  girl  like  her 
needed  play  as  well  as  work.  It  wasn't  much  the 
country  had  to  offer,  he  said  to  himself  with  a  frown. 
But  it  was  waking  up.  There  was  dancing  at  the 
Irish  class,  and  the  singing  of  folk  songs.  They 
must  have  more  gatherings  in  the  houses  at  night. 
Jim  Mescall  must  be  induced  to  spend  more  time  in 
the  parish.  .  .  . 

Afterwards  he  sat  in  his  own  room  making  a  fair 
copy  of  some  old  tales  that  he  hoped  one  day  to  see 
in  print.  He  had  taken  them  down  in  small  note- 
books from  the  lips  of  old  story  tellers  at  ceilidhs  ; 
or  Driscoll  had  dictated  them  as  they  sat  together  at 
night.  He  read  his  own  English  translation  of  one 
about  the  holy  well  near  Reardon's,  a  fantastic  story 
with  laughter  and  tears  as  closely  blended  as  warp  and 
woof  in  a  web  of  linen.  How  she  would  smile  over 
it  and  look  sad.  .  .  . 

"  Are  you  asleep  ?  "  Driscoll  said,  opening  the 
door.  "  Bessy  shouted  to  you  before  she  went,  and 
I've  called  out  twice  myself.  The  bacon  and 
cabbage'll  be  cold." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  was,"  Maurice  said,  looking 
wryly  at  the  few  lines  he  had  copied  in  as  many 
hours. 

"  If  only  Father  Malone  had  the  ruling  of  the 
parish,  I  wouldn't  exchange  out  of  it  for  heaven 
itself,"  Driscoll  said,  as  he  carved  the  small  joint  of 
bacon  in  its  bed  of  white  cabbage. 


102  WAITING 

"  He's  a  fine  man  every  way,"  Maurice  said 
enthusiastically.  "  Did  he  give  a  good  sermon  ?  " 

"  He  did  then.  One  that'd  put  the  heart  in  a 
man,  no  matter  how  he  was  broken  down  by  mis- 
fortune. And  it  wasn't  by  lying  under  it  neither, 
his  advice  was,  but  by  putting  on  a  bold  front 
to  it." 

Maurice  let  the  conversation  drop  and  ate  his 
frugal  dinner  hurriedly.  He  pushed  back  his 
chair  as  he  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork,  and 
said — 

"  1  think  I'll  step  up  to  the  Crawfords'  and  see 
that  girl — as  you're  so  set  on  it." 

He  added  the  last  sentence  hesitatingly,  after  a 
pause.  He  had  no  sooner  said  it  than  he  corrected 
it,  blushing  as  if  ashamed  of  a  mis-statement.  "I 
was  thinking  of  going  myself,  in  any  case." 

"  That's  right.  But  if  you're  too  busy  I'd  strive 
a  point  and  go  myself,  after  I  get  rid  of  the  men  that 
are  coming  about  the  new  shed  in  the  store  yard 
beyond." 

"  I'm  quite  free — nothing  at  all  to  do,"  Maurice 
said  emphatically,  taking  his  hat  off  a  peg. 

"It's  all  one  which  of  us  goes,"  Driscoll  said 
heartily. 

Maurice's  reply  to  this  was  to  make  quickly  for 
the  door.  It  struck  him  on  the  doorstep  to  take  the 
story  about  the  well  and  read  it  to  her  ;  but  after  a 
moment's  hesitation  he  decided  not  to  take  it.  A 
few  of  the  chrysanthemums  ?  He  shook  his  head. 
As  he  walked  rapidly  through  the  village  he  had 
misgivings  as  to  the  wisdom  of  going  at  all.  A 
letter  would  have  done  as  well.  It  would  be  better 
if  Master  Driscoll  had  gone.  There  was  no  necessity 
for  any  one  to  write  to  her  or  see  her — a  letter  to 


WAITING  103 

the  County  Committee  would  have  settled  every- 
thing. He  did  not,  however,  slacken  his  pace.  He 
glanced  sideways  at  his  shadow,  lengthened  by  the 
low  westering  sun.  He  looked  at  his  watch.  It 
was  still  early.  Was  it  too  early  to  call  at  the 
Crawfords'  ?  The  afternoon  of  a  Sunday  or  holiday 
was  all  right  for  a  visit  to  a  Catholic  house.  But 
the  Crawfords  were  Protestants.  As  this  was  no 
holiday  with  them,  they  were  probably  working. 
And  on  working  days  the  fittest  time  for  visiting 
was  in  the  evening  after  supper.  As  he  approached 
his  father's  house  he  decided  to  go  in  there  and  put 
off  the  visit  to  Crawfords'  till  later.  He  thought  of 
Miss  Devoy.  She  was  with  his  mother.  He  began 
to  hum  "The  Snowy- breasted  Pearl,"  and  walked 
steadily  past  the  gate. 

At  the  entrance  to  the  boreen  leading  to 
Crawford's  house  he  came  on  John  Crawford,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  gazing  over  the  low  hedge 
at  a  field  in  which  a  few  drills  of  potatoes  were 
still  undug.  His  bearded,  taciturn  face  was  set 
gloomily. 

"  More  frost  ? "  he  said,  looking  up  at  the 
sky. 

"  I  think  not,"  Maurice  said  gravely,  after  in- 
specting the  signs. 

Crawford  took  a  long  look  at  the  sun  and  nodded 
twice  in  agreement. 

"  Maybe  they're  safe  then.  Last  night's  frost 
was  only  skin  deep.  Are  you  going  up  to  the 
house  ? " 

"  I  am.     Is  Miss  Barton  in  ?  " 

"  She  is." 

They  walked  in  silence  along  the  well-kept 
boreen.  A  waste  of  time  and  labour  and  money, 


io4  WAITING 

some  of  Crawford's  neighbours  called  his  efforts  to 
keep  the  boreen  in  repair.  He  usually  muttered 
into  his  beard  something  about  "  saving  in  horses' 
legs  and  cart  wheels."  His  clipped  hedges  were 
excused  with  knowing  nods  and  a  reference  to  "  the 
Scotch  blood  that  was  far  back  in  him  ";  explanation 
enough  apparently  of  all  queer  fads.  He  was  often 
counselled,  more  in  former  years  than  recently,  not 
"  to  waste  such  a  terrible  wicked  lot  of  money  on  the 
land  in  bag  manure  and  the  like."  Master  Driscoll 
attributed  his  good  crops  to  good  farming  ;  but  it 
was  generally  accepted  that  "  them  Protestants  have 
the  devil's  luck." 

"  It's  a  powerful  lot  of  holidays  ye  have,"  he 
said,  half-way  up  the  boreen. 

"  Not  near  so  many  as  there  used  to  be,"  Maurice 
said  smiling. 

"  Ye  might  clip  another  couple  without  any  loss," 
Crawford  said,  deftly  kicking  a  loose  stone  off  the 
road  with  his  right  foot  behind  his  left. 

Yet  he  paid  a  subtle  deference  to  Catholic  holidays. 
He  wore  his  week-day  clothes  but  he  always  put  on  a 
coat,  an  unusual  feature  in  his  working  attire.  He 
never  did  any  work  "  in  face  of  the  public,"  and 
confined  his  labours  to  the  garden  or  the  fields  behind 
the  house. 

"  You'll  find  her  within  likely,"  he  said,  pushing 
open  the  door. 

He  sauntered  away  when  he  had  discharged  his 
office  of  hospitality. 

Mrs.  Crawford,  who  was  pouring  water  from  a 
kettle  into  a  teapot  at  the  hearth,  suspended  the 
operation  and  turned  her  head. 

"  If  it's  not  Maurice  Blake  !  "  she  said,  laying 
down  the  kettle  and  wiping  her  hands  on  her  apron. 


WAITING  105 

"  A    thousand    welcomes    to    you,  Maurice."     She 
shook  hands  warmly. 

Alice  Barton,  seated  on  a  three-legged  stool  by 
the  fire,  nodded  to  him  brightly.  She  was  vigorously 
whipping  cream  in  a  bowl  with  a  spoon,  one  of 
Mrs.  Crawford's  largest  aprons  tied  high  on  her 
waist. 

"  Is  it  near  broke  yet  ? "  Mrs.  Crawford  asked. 

"  It  is  not — though  my  arm  is — almost,"  Alice 
said  jerkily. 

"  The  worst  of  that  creamery  is  that  we're  often 
without  a  bit  of  butter  in  the  house,"  Mrs.  Crawford 
said,  turning  to  Maurice.  "We  were  just  going  to 
have  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  mouthful  of  hot  cake — and 
what'd  that  be  without  the  butter  to  slip  it  down  ? — 
when  I  found  all  of  a  sudden  there  wasn't  a  taste  in 
the  place.  So  we're  making  shift  to  make  a  bit  in  a 
bowl.  Hold  it  well  over  the  fire,  Alice,  so  that  it'll 
get  a  touch  of  the  heat." 

"And  the  face  nearly  burned  off  me  already," 
Alice  said,  turning  her  back  to  the  fire. 

Maurice  thought  the  pink  glow  in  her  cheeks 
very  becoming,  and  was'  tempted  to  say  so.  But 
he  was  tongue  tied,  and  Mrs.  Crawford  anticipated 
him. 

"  A  fat  lot  of  harm  it  has  done  you,"  she  said, 
as  she  filled  the  teapot.  "  Here,  give  me  that  bowl 
and  I'll  soon  have  the  butter  swimming  on  the  top 
of  it.  And  now  that  the  master  has  come  you  might 
put  a  cloth  on  the  table  in  the  room  and  lay  the  tea- 
things  there,"  she  added,  as  Alice,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief,  handed  her  the  bowl. 

Alice  took  off  the  apron,  which  had  enveloped 
her  like  a  sack,  glanced  doubtfully  at  the  dresser  and 
at  her  aunt. 


io6  WAITING 

"  Oh  !  the  best  cups  in  the  room  cupboard,  of 
course,"  Mrs.  Crawford  said. 

She  watched  Alice  admiringly  as  she  walked  across 
the  kitchen  to  the  room  door,  and  whispered  to 
Maurice — 

u  She's  that  smart  and  handy  she  might  have 
been  reared  in  the  country." 

Though  Maurice  at  the  moment  was  attributing 
her  grace  of  movement  to  some  unknown  town  in- 
fluence, he  nodded  emphatic  agreement. 

Mrs.  Crawford  whipped  the  cream  with  an  easy 
certainty.  Alice  moved  about  the  room,  coming  a  few 
times  to  the  dresser  in  the  kitchen  for  a  knife  or  a 
plate.  Maurice  watched  her.  She  had  changed  some- 
how since  last  night.  He  smiled  with  pleasure.  It 
was  ridiculous  of  Hanny  to  say  that  a  girl's  new  blouse 
would  be  staring  him  in  the  face  for  a  year  before 
he'd  notice  it,  and  not  even  then  unless  he  was  told 
about  it.  Why,  he  had  noticed  Miss  Barton's  dress 
twice  in  twenty-four  hours  :  he  noticed  even  the 
difference  in  her  shoes,  he  asserted  strongly,  in  proof 
of  his  acute  power  of  observation.  Of  course,  it  was 
because  she  was  wearing  a  blouse  and  skirt  now  that 
she  looked  different. 

"There,  it's  broke  at  last,"  Mrs.  Crawford  said 
with  satisfaction.  "  I'll  have  it  gathered  together  in 
a  minute.  The  tea  is  more  than  drawn  enough  for 
Alice.  She  has  queer  city  notions  about  tea,  but 
sure  she  can  add  a  drop  of  water  to  it  if  it's  too 
strong.  We  won't  wait  for  John,"  she  continued, 
as  she  collected  the  butter  into  a  small  lump,  poured 
off  the  buttermilk,  washed  the  butter,  walking  the 
while  between  the  table  and  the  dresser.  "  If  he's 
working  he  likes  a  cup  taken  to  him  in  the  field.  If 
he's  only  pottering  about  the  place,  either  he  comes 


WAITING  107 

in  or  he  doesn't.  If  he  chances  in  while  the  tea  is 
going  he  enjoys  a  cup  as  well  as  another.  If  he 
doesn't  come  in,  sorra  one  of  me  looks  for  him,  and 
he  never  feels  the  want  of  it." 

"  Where  is  Allan  ?  "  Maurice  asked,  to  fill  up  a 
pause. 

"  Allan  !  he's  worse  than  a  Catholic  for  all  the 
good  we  get  out  of  that  son  of  ours  on  a  holiday. 
Galivanting  he  is  into  Liscannow  to  a  Gaelic  foot- 
ball match — in  his  Sunday  clothes  too.  Come  along 
in  now  and  we'll  have  a  cup  of  tea,"  she  added,  leading 
the  way  to  the  room,  the  teapot  in  one  hand  and  a 
plate  of  butter  in  the  other. 

A  small  fire  burned  in  the  grate.  "That's  for 
Alice,"  Mrs.  Crawford  said,  nodding  at  the  fire  with 
some  pride.  "  She  has  a  powerful  deal  of  reading 
and  writing  to  do  in  that  job  of  hers.  With  all  the 
comings  in  and  going  out  in  the  kitchen  her  head'd 
be  moidered,  so  I  keep  a  few  sods  in  here  for 
her." 

This  reminded  Maurice  of  the  object  of  his 
visit,  but  it  was  not  till  he  had  almost  finished  tea 
that  he  mustered  courage  to  say — 

"  Mr.  Driscoll  wishes  to  know  if  you'd  like  to 
come  to  Bourneen  to  lecture,  Miss  Barton  ?  He 
says  the  society  is  going  to  ask  for  you  at  once." 

He  spoke  nervously,  in  a  hushed  voice,  as  if 
the  fate  of  empires  depended  on  her  reply.  Her 
eyes  sparkled  mischievously. 

"  There  now  ? "  she  said,  tossing  her  head,  to 
Mrs.  Crawford,  whose  mouth  hung  open  in  as- 
tonishment. 

"  Think  of  that  now,"  Mrs.  Crawford  said 
weakly. 

Alice  turned  to  Maurice  with  a  set  face.     There 


io8  WAITING 

was  a  prim  severity  about  her  lips,  but  her  eyes 
sparkled  a  little  as  she  said — 

"  I've  to  go  where  I'm  sent — of  course,  I've  no 
objection  to  come  here." 

"  Listen  to  her  putting  on  now  !  "  Mrs.  Crawford 
said  derisively.  "  And  she  near  on  her  knees  to 
John  all  the  morning  coaxing  him  to  try  and  get  her 
asked." 

"  Oh  !  Aunt  Ruth,"  Alice  said  appealingly,  all 
her  primness  gone. 

"  Far  be  it  from  me  to  belittle  you,"  her  aunt 
said,  looking  at  her  affectionately.  "  I  wouldn't 
give  in  to  any  one  in  the  ten  parishes  on  your  laying 
of  a  table  or  settling  a  posy  of  flowers.  And  >you 
should  see  the  wonders  she  worked,  Maurice,  on  my 
Sunday  dress  in  the  course  of  a  few  minutes.  I'm 
never  tired  of  singing  her  praises.  But,"  she 
screwed  her  face  doubtfully,  "  it's  a  different  matter 
entirely  when  it  comes  to  the  rearing  of  fowl. 
There's  myself  now,  and  I  all  my  life  at  it,  and 
didn't  I  lose  eleven  young  turkeys  out  of  a  score 
this  very  year.  There  John  sat,"  she  pointed  to  the 
kitchen,  "  and  she  begging  of  him,  and  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  back  of  next  year  and  as  dumb  as  a 
post,  and  never  word  of  encouragement  he'd  breathe 
on  her.  He's  a  silent  man  and  it's  hard  to  know 
what  he  notices.  From  the  way  he  sat  her  on  his 
knee  the  night  she  came,  I  doubt  if  he  sees  that  she's 
out  of  the  long-clothes  she  used  to  wear  and  he 
dandling  her  when  he  saw  her  last,  near  twenty  years 
ago.  Though  I  believe  in  my  heart  he  didn't  give 
any  heed  to  her  because  of  a  crazy  notion  he  has 
against  pushing  relations  on  the  county  pay-sheet. 
But  it  puts  a  different  face  on  it  if  Master  Driscoll 
thinks  well  of  her  knowledge.  What  he  doesn't 


WAITING  109 

know  about  one  thing  and  another  isn't  worth 
knowing.  Maybe,  I  wasn't  giving  her  enough  of 
credit  myself,"  she  wound  up,  her  voice  trailing  off 
in  a  questioning  tone. 

Maurice  listened  uneasily.  His  eyes  wandered 
from  the  framed  scripture  texts  on  the  walls  to  the 
clasped  family  Bible,  on  its  mat  of  blue  and  red 
Berlin  wool,  on  a  small  table  in  the  corner.  He 
had  strong  opinions  on  qualifications  and  had  always 
opposed  foisting  people  into  jobs.  What  did  he  or 
Master  Driscoll  know  about  her  ?  His  eyes  fell  on 
her  photograph  on  the  mantelpiece.  The  very  dress 
she  wore  last  night  at  Reardons'  !  With  a  faith  that 
transcends  all  knowledge,  he  felt  convinced  that  she 
was  capable.  If  weaker  people  needed  evidence, 
there  it  was  in  the  picture,  in  the  poise  of  her  head, 
in  the  line  of  her  neck  and  shoulders.  He  was  even 
a  little  disappointed  when  he  remembered  why  he 
had  taken  her  knowledge  for  granted — the  Board 
that  appointed  to  her  post  enforced  the  strictest  tests 
of  fitness.  His  eyes  caught  hers  fixed  on  him 
quizzically. 

"What  do  you  think  of  me  ?  "  said  they. 

He  intended  his  to  answer,  "  I  believe  you  are 
well  qualified,"  and  was  disturbed  when  she  turned 
away  her  eyes  hastily,  blushed  the  faintest  pink  up 
to  the  edge  of  her  hair  and  frowned. 

When  he  said  the  same  words  aloud  to  Mrs. 
Crawford  a  moment  afterwards,  Alice  smiled  normally 
and  gave  him  a  grateful  little  nod.  Then  she  shrugged 
her  shoulders,  saying — 

"  A  girl's  relatives  never  believe  that  she  can  do 
anything." 

Mrs.  Crawford  threw  up  her  hands.  "  Did 
any  one  ever  hear  the  like  ? "  she  said  to  the  ceiling. 


i  io  WAITING 

"  Why  if  you  only  heard  all  I  say  to  John  about  you, 
and  I  lying  awake  at  night.  '  Whist,  woman,'  he'd 
say,  *  you're  keeping  the  sleep  off  me.'  But  he 
might  just  as  well  be  speaking  to  the  wall.  All 
along  I  knew  you  had  it  in  you " 

"  Ruth,"  Crawford  interrupted  through  the 
window,  having  lifted  the  sash  from  outside,  "  would 
you  hand  out  an  old  apron  to  save  Dempsey's  Sun- 
day trousers,  and  he  milking  ? " 

"  You  ruffian  of  the  world,"  she  said,  on  going 
to  the  window,  to  the  workman  who  stood  beside 
her  husband.  "  And  you  not  coming  next  or  nigh  the 
place  since  you  went  off  early  to  second  mass." 

"  And  would  you  blame  me,  ma'am,  and  I  having 
my  clean  things  on  me  ?  "  Dempsey  said,  laughing 
sheepishly.  "  The  last  time  I  went  to  confession  to 
Father  James,  he  drew  the  line  of  work  on  a  Holiday 
at  milking  cows  or  the  like  that  couldn't  go  without. 
And  to  be  all  the  more  careful,  he  said,  because 
I'm  a  labouring  man  to  Protestants,  to  keep  up 
the  credit  of  my  religion,  and  on  no  account  to 
change  out  of  my  Sunday  trousers  or  my  greased 
shoes — though  the  last  wouldn't  matter  a  ha'penny, 
for  they're  the  same  Sunday  and  day, — for  fear  I 
might  be  forgetting  the  holy  day  that  was  in  it  and 
be  putting  my  hand  to  other  servile  works  that  there 
was  no  allowance  of." 

Mrs.  Crawford  sniffed.  "  It's  a  pity  he  didn't 
put  a  padlock  on  your  tongue.  As  for  work  ! 
if  you  confessed  all  you  done  of  it  from  one  week's 
end  to  the  other,  and  every  day  was  a  holiday,  he'd 
be  hard  set  to  make  a  sin  out  of  it" 

She  brought  an  apron  from  the  kitchen  and 
handed  it  to  Dempsey  through  the  window. 

"  The  teapot   isn't  cold  yet,  come  in  and  have 


WAITING  in 

a  cup,  John,  and  I  have  the  news  of  the  world  for 
you,  too,"  she  said  in  a  wheedling  tone  to  her  hus- 
band. 

He  grunted  but  walked  towards  the  kitchen  door. 

"  If  I  had  a  cup  myself  it  would  put  the  heart  in 
me  for  the  milking,"  Dempsey  said,  as  she  was  about 
to  let  down  the  sash. 

"  You  idle  stravager,"  she  said,  pulling  it  down 
and  jerking  it  up  again.  She  filled  a  cup,  buttered 
a  huge  slice  of  soda  cake  and  handed  them  out. 
"  Be  off  out  of  my  sight  with  you — and  I'll  be  out 
in  a  minute  to  help  you  with  the  milking,"  she  added, 
banging  the  sash  to. 

Crawford  came  in  and  stood  behind  Alice's  chair. 

"  I'll  have  no  tea  now.  I  must  see  after  the 
cows,"  he  said  gloomily.  "  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  There  are  others  that  think  higher  of  your  own 
than  you  do,"  Mrs.  Crawford  said  scornfully,  her 
hands  on  her  hips.  "  The  master  there  brought  the 
news.  Master  Driscoll  is  head  and  front  of  a  move 
to  get  Alice  to  work  in  the  parish." 

Crawford  was  fingering  a  strand  of  Alice's  hair 
between  his  thumb  and  first  finger. 

"  You'll  be  coming  back  to  us  for  a  bit  again, 
then,"  he  said. 

She  turned  her  head,  and  pressed  her  cheek 
against  his  hand. 

"  I  must  go  and  look  after  the  milk,"  he  said. 

Alice  walked  with  him  to  the  kitchen  door. 

"  It  was  always  a  grievance  to  him  that  he  never 
had  a  daughter  of  his  own,"  Mrs.  Crawford  said  to 
Maurice  in  a  low  voice.  "  Sorra  a  word  he  ever 
gives  Alice  more  than  that.  But  she  won't  have  a 
word  said  against  him.  It  might  be  blood  speaking 
in  her  and  she  his  own  sister's  daughter.  They  can 


ii2  WAITING 

sit  there  of  a  night,  the  best  of  company,  without  a 
word  between  them,  and  the  next  minute  she'd  be 
as  lively  as  a  cricket  with  myself.  If  she  doesn't 
know  about  the  fowl  itself  she  has  the  heart  in  her 
to  comfort  a  lonely  man.  But  there,  I'm  talking, 
and  I  ought  to  be  helping  Dempsey.  We're  all 
beholden  to  you  for  taking  the  trouble  to  come  with 
the  news." 

Alice  sat  with  Maurice  by  the  fire  in  the  kitchen 
while  Mrs.  Crawford  was  in  the  cowhouse.  She 
showed  him  her  certificates,  spoke  of  her  early  life 
at  home,  of  the  little  poultry  run  her  mother  kept 
beyond  Drumcondra,  on  the  outskirts  of  Dublin, 
"  as  much  to  keep  her  in  mind  of  the  country  as  for 
the  profit  of  it,"  The  light  went  from  the  day,  but 
she  spoke  on,  the  firelight  gilding  her  hair,  her  eyes 
shining,  of  her  mother's  love  of  the  country,  a  love 
compared  with  which  her  own  was  only  a  shadow  ; 
of  the  tales  of  Ireland  her  mother  told  her  ;  of  the 
Irish  class  she  attended  in  a  back  room  in  Eccles 
Street  ;  of  her  excitement  on  the  great  day  when  it 
struck  her  that  her  knowledge  of  poultry  might  be 
made  a  means  of  living  in  the  real  country  which  she 
hardly  dared  to  believe  had  all  the  charm  her  mother 
ascribed  to  it ;  of  her  preparation  at  the  agricultural 
college  ;  of  her  appointment  ;  and  since — but  here 
words  failed  her,  and  he  saw  her  eyes  shine  brighter 
for  the  tears  that  dimmed  them. 

It  was  late  when  he  went  home.  He  had  only 
a  vague  memory  of  what  she  said,  but  as  he  walked 
along  the  familiar  road  he  saw  her  clearly  as  she  sat 
at  the  fireside,  her  head  slightly  bent  forward,  her 
chin  resting  on  her  hand,  her  hair  a  golden  aura. 
He  heard  again  her  low  impassioned  voice  with  a 
new  music  in  it  at  that  pitch.  He  shivered  a  little 


WAITING  113 

— she  seemed  so  far  away,  so  detached.  He  ought 
to  be  glad,  he  said  to  himself  reproachfully,  that  she 
was  so  bound  up  in  her  ideals.  They  were  his  own 
too.  He  even  said  aloud  as  he  passed  the  old  mill  : 
"  It's  a  happy  country  that  has  the  heart  of  a  woman 
like  her."  But  he  felt  restless  and  unhappy.  In 
passing  through  the  village  he  recalled  the  gesture 
of  her  face  seeking  John  Crawford's  hand  ;  and, 
somehow,  it  brought  him  peace. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

SPRING  had  come  to  Bourneen.  Trees  in  bud  shone 
pink  in  the  sunlight.  Delicate  green  shoots  starred 
the  hedgerows.  The  cold  grey  dawns  had  become 
pearl,  and  the  mill  hill  again  glowed  red  at  sunrise. 
The  snowdrops  in  Master  Driscoll's  garden  had  lost 
their  flowers.  The  first  bloom  of  the  purple  crocuses 
had  already  gone,  and  a  row  of  daffodils  unfolded 
golden  crowns  to  the  sun.  Farmers  went  early 
afield  and  grudged  a  morning  for  the  Easter  stations, 
which  were  in  full  swing.  Freshly  turned  earth 
scented  the  morning  air,  though  the  last  of  the 
second  ploughing  was  nearly  done.  Wheat  peeped 
above  the  ground.  Oats  had  been  sown.  In  the 
barns  women  deftly  cut  potato  setts  and  laid  them 
in  skibs  ready  for  planting.  In  the  paddocks  lambs 
frisked  about  their  mothers  or  nibbled  shyly  at  the 
young  grass. 

Maurice  Blake  lingered  on  his  way  to  the  school- 
house.  He  read  a  placard,  displayed  outside  the 
agricultural  store,  announcing  lectures  and  demon- 
strations in  poultry  keeping  by  Miss  Alice  Barton. 
It  looked  well  and  read  well,  he  thought. 

"  I  hope  she  won't  disappoint  this  time,"  the 
serjeant  of  police  said,  coming  to  a  stand  behind 
Maurice,  after  a  leisurely  saunter  through  the  village 
street. 


WAITING  115 

"  Good  morning,  serjeant.  Oh,  she  didn't  dis- 
appoint. 'Twas  the  County  Committee's  fault. 
They  gave  in  to  the  Drumquin  people,  who  didn't 
want  to  give  her  up.  She's  coming  for  certain  in  a 
fortnight." 

"  She's  a  great  hand  at  it,  I  believe.  The  patrol 
have  posted  her  up  well  all  over  the  parish.  I 
thought  they  might  as  well  be  at  that  as  doing 
nothing.  Not  a  boycotted  man  in  the  place,  or  a 
grass  farm  itself  to  be  protecting.  And  Father 
Malone  leaves  little  for  the  men  to  do  in  the  way  of 
minding  pubs.  Only  for  an  odd  pig  or  a  cow  stray- 
ing round  the  roads,  they'd  be  hard  set  to  make  any 
showing  for  their  pay." 

Maurice  dangled  the  keys  which  he  held  in  his 
hand. 

The  serjeant  looked  at  them  doubtfully.   "There's 
many  ways  of  making  a  living,"  he  said,  shaking  his 
head,  "  but  I  wouldn't  be  shut  up  in  a  school  on  a 
spring  day  like  this — not  if  I  had  the  offer  of  being 
made  a  head  constable  for  it.     There — if  that  isn't 
that  racer  of  a  sow  of  Clancy's  !     My  own  job  isn't 
all  sugarstick,  I  can  tell  you.     A  man  can't  take  a 
stroll  after  breakfast  without  all    the   pigs   of  the 
country   forcing   themselves    under    his    notice.     1 
must  go  back  to  the  barracks  and  send  out  a  couple 
of  men  to  take  her  in  charge." 

At  the  school  gate  Maurice  stopped  to  talk  to 
the  two  boys  who  had  come  early  to  dust  the  school- 
room which  they  had  swept  out  the  afternoon  before. 
With  touzled  hair  and  flushed  faces,  fresh  from  a 
game  of  leap-frog,  they  greeted  him  sheepishly. 
Tommy  Hinnissey,  with  an  ear  for  the  notes  of  a 
bird  hopping  about  in  a  flower-bed,  and  an  eye  for 
the  green  in  the  hedge,  said — 


ii6  WAITING 

"  There  was  a  robineen  peering  about  a  bush  in 
the  end  of  our  garden  this  morning — the  same  bush 
that  there  was  a  robineen's  nest  in  last  year.  I 
doubt  but  she  was  the  same  bird,  and  maybe  she's 
thinking  of  nesting  there  again.  Sorra  one  of  us 
touched  an  egg  in  it,  so  she  might.  In  another 
couple  of  weeks  there'll  be  nests  high  and  low  all 
over  the  parish." 

Pierce  Donlon  said  contemptuously,  "  There 
were  four  nests  in  our  garden  last  year." 

"  Shall  we  light  a  fire  this  morning  ?  "  Maurice 
asked  doubtfully. 

"  Is  it  on  a  morning  like  this? "  Tommy  said, 
sniffing  the  air.  "  It'd  be  a  great  day  for  belting 
across  the  high  bank  through  the  middle  of  the  bog 
barefooted,"  he  added,  with  a  sigh. 

"  It  might  be  only  a  pet  day,"  Pierce  said 
gloomily. 

"And  my  father  saying  this  morning  the  spring 
had  come  in  earnest !  Why,  it's  nearly  too  fine  for 
spinning  a  top,  and  a  man  could  play  marbles  any 
day,"  Tommy  said,  taking  the  school  door-key  from 
Maurice,  with  a  triumphant  look  at  Donlon. 

Maurice  felt,  as  he  watched  them  enter  the 
school,  that  he,  too,  would  like  to  be  on  the  bog 
path,  and  go  on  and  on,  up  the  spur  of  the  mountain, 
to  the  very  top  of  Slieve  Mor,  which  still  wore  a 
ragged  cap  of  snow.  He  took  off  his  hat,  opened 
his  lips  wide,  and  drank  in  draughts  of  the  fresh 
air  that  fanned  his  temples  like  a  caressing  hand. 
It  seemed  to  quicken  his  blood.  There  was  some- 
thing in  what  the  serjeant  said  about  school — especi- 
ally on  a  day  like  this.  He  sighed,  and  sighed  again 
more  deeply  as  he  saw  Miss  Devoy  approach  the 
gate.  He  stooped  and  picked  some  weeds  out  of  a 


WAITING  117 

bed,  turned  his  back  to  the  path  and  fingered  the 
creeper  on  the  school  wall,  the  scarlet  buds  full  to 
bursting. 

"  I  am  hot,"  she  said  in  a  panting  voice,  "  and 
my  winter  jacket  on  me  too.  I  was  afraid  to  leave 
it  off.  As  I'm  early,  you  might  hear  my  Irish 
lesson  before  school  begins." 

"  I'll  be  in  after  you  in  a  minute — when  I  fix 
this  creeper." 

"  Can't  I  help  you  ?  "  she  said  cheerfully. 

Spring  was  kind  to  her.  All  the  blue-black  and 
nearly  all  the  purple  had  left  her  cheek-bones,  which 
were  flushed  a  deep  red.  Drops  of  sweat  stood  out 
on  her  forehead  and  on  her  upper  lip.  He  watched 
anxiously  a  little  stream  trickle  down  by  the  corner 
of  her  eye. 

"  I  am  hot,"  she  said  again,  mopping  her  face 
with  a  blue  and  white  speckled  handkerchief. 

"  I've  just  finished,"  he  said,  picking  a  promising 
bud. 

For  the  hundredth  time,  as  he  followed  her  into 
the  schoolroom,  he  regretted  Joan  Bradley,  the 
elderly  workmistress  whose  place  Miss  Devoy  had 
taken.  Old  Joan  wasn't  much  help,  but  she  didn't 
get  on  his  nerves.  She  could  talk  Irish  too,  but — 
he  frowned,  then  laughed  as  he  caught  sight  of 
the  Young  Ladies'  Journal  sticking  out  of  Miss 
Devoy's  pocket.  And  he  had  been  so  pleased,  he 
thought  ruefully,  when  Miss  Devoy  first  asked  him 
to  teach  her  Irish.  He  remembered  the  day  well, 
the  day  following  the  All  Saints'  Day  she  spent  with 
his  mother.  He  had  expected  an  attack  for  not 
having  kept  his  promise  ;  but  all  Miss  Devoy  had 
said  was,  "  You  missed  a  great  deal  by  not  being 
there.  Myself  and  your  mother  had  a  great  crack." 


n8  WAITING 

Later  she  had  said,  "  I'm  thinking  of  learning  the 
Irish  myself — if  you  could  spare  the  time  to  teach 
me."  After  a  week  her  interest  flagged,  and  she 
had  not  yet  got  through  the  first  primer  of 
O'Growney.  He  had  begun  to  loathe  the  lesson 
and  hoped  every  day  that  she  would  forget  about  it. 
But  she  never  forgot.  It  was  only  when  the  books 
were  opened  for  the  lesson  that  she  said — 

"  I  had  a  headache  last  night,  and  couldn't  read 
a  word  ; "  or  "  I'm  blest  if  I  didn't  forget  all  about 
it."  And  in  the  next  breath  asked  him  if  he  had 
read  the  Young  Ladies'  Journal  for  last  month. 
"That  Lady  Ermyntrude  de  Vere  is  a  clip,  she  is," 
and  she  plunged  into  the  heroine's  exciting  adven- 
tures. He  reduced  the  time  of  the  lesson  from 
twenty  minutes  to  ten.  One  day,  when  she  said 
"  The  Irish  is  a  great  chance  for  a  chat,"  he  almost 
lost  his  temper  ;  but  the  sight  of  her  beaming,  good- 
natured  face  restrained  him. 

To-day  she  had  looked  over  the  lesson.  But  at 
the  end  of  five  minutes  she  shut  the  book. 

"That's  the  last  word  I  did,"  she  said  with  a 
smile.  "  But  I'll  know  it  better  to-morrow.  I  see 
by  the  posters  that  that  niece  of  the  Crawfords'  is 
coming  here." 

"She  is." 

"I  never  could  see  much  in  her.  She  has  no 
colour  in  the  face,"  Miss  Devoy  said,  with  a  critical 
air,  spreading  her  arms  on  the  table  in  preparation 
for  a  talk. 

Maurice  flushed  and  pulled  out  his  watch. 
"That  clock  is  slow.  We  must  begin,"  he  said 
sharply,  gathering  up  his  books.  "Will  you  please 
take  the  catechism  class,  Miss  Devoy  ?  " 

"Always  when  I'm  sitting  comfortable,  I  must 


WAITING  119 

be  up  and  begin  something  or  other,"  she  said, 
yawning. 

The  benches  on  both  sides  of  the  gangway  were 
fairly  full,  boys  on  one  side,  girls  on  the  other,  and 
there  was  still  a  steady  stream  through  the  door. 
Half  the  boys  were  barefooted,  fewer  of  the  girls. 
Satchels  and  straps  of  books  were  put  away  noisily 
in  the  ledges  under  the  desks.  There  was  a  low 
hum  of  conversation. 

Notwithstanding  his  remark  about  the  time, 
Maurice  stood,  watch  in  hand,  in  front  of  his  desk 
till  the  clock  struck  the  half-hour.  He  then  re- 
versed a  card,  marked  "  Secular  Instruction,"  and  it 
read  "  Religious  Instruction."  Haifa  dozen  children 
stood  up  and  left  the  room — Protestant  Levises  and 
Barbers.  The  seventy  Catholics  watched  them 
enviously.  "  The  Prods  "  were  to  have  half  an  hour's 
play,  while  the  unhappy  majority  remaining  behind  to 
con  the  Maynooth  Catechism  felt  all  the  desolation 
of  martyrdom.  No  one  stirred  till  the  last  little 
Barber  girl  took  a  flying  jump  through  the  porch 
door.  There  was  a  general  sigh.  The  children  in 
the  benches  filed  out  and  formed  themselves  into 
semi-circular  classes  at  the  top  and  side  of  the  school- 
room. There  was  much  shuffling  of  feet  in  the 
effort  to  toe  exactly  the  white  chalk  circles  on  the 
floor. 

Maurice  spoke  sharply  to  a  late  comer.  She 
said  reproachfully,  "  I  had  to  drive  the  cows  to 
the  field  by  the  bog."  It  was  only  then  he  realized 
that  she  was  an  overworked  girl  for  whom  he  always 
had  deep  sympathy.  He  felt  unaccountably  out  of 
temper,  and  was  annoyed  with  himself.  Miss 
Devoy  had  said  something  that  vexed  him.  .  .  . 
Children,  however,  always  put  him  in  good  humour. 


120  WAITING 

Both  Miss  Devoy  and  Miss  Barton  were  soon  for- 
gotten. No  one  could  resist  the  pleading  eyes  of  a 
mite  of  six  who  insisted  strenuously  that  Christ  was 
born  on  Christmas  Day  in  a  stable  at  Bermingham's 
— the  local  blacksmith.  And  a  small  boy,  after 
diligent  thought,  gave  an  individual  view  of  Christian 
charity.  When  asked  what  he  would  do  for  the 
wounded  man  by  the  roadside  if  he  passed  by  in 
place  of  the  good  Samaritan  :  "I'd  croost  him  with 
stones,"  said  he.  When  Maurice  tried  to  temper 
this  truculence  the  boy  was  only  doubtfully  con- 
vinced. 

At  ten  o'clock  secular  school  began.  A  class  went 
ofFjoyfully  to  Master  Driscoll's  garden.  While  Miss 
Devoy  gave  a  writing  lesson  in  the  desks,  Maurice 
took  a  geography  class  in  the  playground.  Instead 
of  beginning  with  an  outline  map  of  the  world  his 
teaching  began  at  the  school  door.  The  pupils  knew 
nothing  of  Chimborazo  or  the  probable  sources  of 
the  Brahmaputra,  but  they  knew  all  about  Slieve 
Mor,  and  the  Liscannow  river,  and  the  stream  that 
once  turned  the  mill  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  on  the 
Liscannow  road — and  would  turn  it  again  soon 
Maurice  hoped. 

All  the  pupils  were  in  the  schoolroom  at  ten 
minutes  to  eleven  for  roll-call.  Master  Driscoll's 
unconventional  method  of  calling  the  roll  still  sur- 
vived. Attendance  was  voluntary  by  law,  but  a  too 
vigorous  compulsion  was  often  exercised  by  elder 
brothers. 

"  Charlie  Hinnissey  ?  "  Maurice  called. 

"  Absent,"  Tommy  said,  cheerfully.  "  By 
reason  of  a  stone  bruise  on  his  big  toe  he  got  going 
home  last  night.  He'll  be  here  to-morrow  if  I  have 
to  bring  him  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck." 


WAITING  121 

"  No  harshness,  mind,"  Maurice  said. 

"  Sorra  bit.  He'll  come  free  enough — with  me 
behind  him,"  Jimmy  said  righteously. 

As  Maurice  was  closing  the  report  book  there 
was  a  loud  shout  of  "  Hi,  there  !  "  from  the  road. 

Miss  Devoy,  who  was  near  a  window,  looked  out. 

"  It's  Father  James  in  his  trap  coming  back  from 
the  station,"  she  said  excitedly.  "He's  getting  out 
and  Matsey  is  off  to  the  chapel  with  the  station-box. 
He  wants  some  one  to  hold  the  mare." 

Maurice  smiled  drearily,  and  said  abstractedly  to 
a  boy  near  the  door,  "  Would  you  please  hold  the 
priest's  horse  ?  " 

The  infrequent  visits  of  Father  James  depressed 
Maurice.  He  was  always  afraid  that  the  all-power- 
ful manager  was  at  last  about  to  prevent  the  teaching 
of  some  cherished  subject.  With  some  trepidation 
he  walked  towards  the  porch.  He  looked  round  to 
see  if  everything  was  in  order.  An  unwonted  hush 
had  fallen  on  the  room.  Miss  Devoy,  in  a  corner, 
was  flattening  her  already  flat  hair,  in  front  of  a 
small  mirror  attached  to  the  back  of  a  stiff  cardboard 
copy  of  the  Rules  and  Regulations  of  the  National 
Board  of  Education. 

"Why  am  I  kept  waiting  like  this?"  Father 
James  said  at  the  door. 

Maurice  tried  to  keep  a  note  of  stiffness  out  of 
his  voice  as  he  said — 

"  No  one  saw  you  drive  up,  sir." 

"  Don't  let  it  happen  again.  Sit  down,  sit 
down,"  to  the  pupils  who  stood  in  their  places 
with  eyes  bent.  "  Hi,  you  !  If  a  herring  and  a  half 
cost  three  halfpence,  how  many  for  elevenpence  ? 
Right.  What's  the  length  of  the  Mississippi  ? 
Right."  He  paused  before  putting  his  third 


122  WAITING 

favourite  question,  and  a  little  girl  began  to  spell 
h-i-p.  "  Spell  hippopotamus.  Right.  I  see  your 
teachers  are  attending  fairly  to  their  work.  Stick 
to  the  three  R's  and  you'll  get  on  in  the  world. 
There's  a  boy  from  the  Strand  school  below  that  got 
to  be  a  clerk  in  a  shop  in  Liscannow,  and  he  has  just 
opened  a  shop  of  his  own.  That's  something  to 
keep  before  you  to  make  you  work." 

He  turned  to  Maurice.  "  Send  up  three  or 
four  of  'em  to  pick  the  weeds  out  of  my  front 
walk." 

He  drummed  the  rostrum  nervously  with  his 
fingers  and  frowned.  "  The  bishop  is  coming  for 
confirmation  at  the  end  of  the  autumn.  Let  me  see 
how  they  know  their  catechism,"  he  said  loudly. 

Maurice  whispered  that  it  was  against  the  rules, 
that  religious  instruction  was  over,  that  there  were 
Protestants  present. 

"  Turn  them  out,"  the  priest  said  impatiently. 
"  As  if  a  manager  can't  do  what  he  likes  in  his  own 
school." 

"  The  inspector  ?  " 

"  I  don't  give  that  for  an  inspector,"  snapping 
his  fingers.  "  Do  as  I  tell  you  at  once." 

Maurice  reluctantly  changed  the  card  to  "  Re- 
ligious Instruction."  The  Levises  and  Barbers 
marched  out,  but  those  left  behind  dared  not  sigh. 

"  Who  is  the  invisible  head  of  the  Church  ?  " 

"  Jesus  Christ,"  a  small  boy  said  glibly. 

"  And  the  visible  head  ?  " 

"The  Pope." 

"And  who  represents  Jesus  Christ  and  the  Pope 
in  this  parish  ? " 

There  was  some  hesitation  over  this.  A  little 
girl  said,  "  Miss  Devoy." 


WAITING  123 

"  What  am  I  always  telling  you  week  in  and 
week  out  off  the  altar  ? "  the  priest  said  furiously. 

"  To  pay  the  dues,  your  reverence,"  a  small  boy 
said  brightly. 

Father  James  cuffed  his  ears.  Another  boy 
said — 

"That  you're  the  same  as  the  Pope  himself  in 
Bourneen." 

This  seemed  satisfactory,  for  the  priest  said, 
"That's  enough  for  one  bout.  I'll  come  in  soon 
and  give  you  more  instruction  in  your  religion." 

The  "  Secular  Instruction  "  side  of  the  card  in 
front  of  the  teacher's  desk  was  again  exposed  and 
the  Protestants  were  called  in.  Father  James  walked 
up  and  down  restlessly.  He  went  to  the  teacher's 
desk  and  opened  the  report  book. 

"  How  many  am  I  to  put  down  present  ? "  he 
said. 

"There  are  seventy-six,  and  the  boy  holding 
the  mare,"  Maurice  said  quietly. 

Father  James  looked  at  him  suspiciously  and 
marked  seventy-seven.  He  put  down  the  pen  and 
looked  round  the  room,  caught  Tommy  Hinnis- 
sey's  eye  and  beckoned  to  him. 

"  You're  Hinnissey,  aren't  you  ? " 

Tommy  pulled  his  forelock  and  stammered, 
"  Yes,  sir — your  reverence." 

"Tell  your  father  he  hasn't  given  me  a  day's 
ploughing  yet,  and  I'm  behind-hand." 

He  watched  Miss  Devoy  handing  out  copy-books, 
looked  thoughtfully  from  her  to  Maurice,  and  said, 
"  Hum,  hum." 

"  I  must  be  going,"  he  said  after  a  brown  study 
of  a  few  minutes.  "  I  have  my  work  to  do." 

Maurice,  who  was  standing  by  idle,  checked  a 


i24  WAITING 

long  breath  of  relief.     On  his  way  out,  Father  James 
said  roughly  to  Miss  Devoy — 

"  How  are  you  ?  "  with  contemptuous  emphasis 
on  the  "  you." 

"  Quite  well,  thank  you,  Father  James,"  she 
said,  with  a  little  bob,  all  the  colour  gone  out  of 
her  cheeks  except  on  the  high  bones,  which  were  a 
streaky  blue. 

"  You  are,  are  you,"  he  said  half  to  himself,  as 
he  turned  moodily  to  the  door. 

When  he  had  taken  his  seat  in  his  trap  he  flicked 
the  boy  who  held  the  horse  with  his  whip,  shouting, 
"  Let  go  the  mare's  head,  can't  you  "  ;  and  turning 
slightly  towards  Maurice,  who  stood  by  the  gate, 
he  said  aggressively,  "And  you,  come  up  to  the 
parochial  house  this  evening  at  five  o'clock.  I  want 
a  word  with  you."  Without  waiting  for  a  reply  he 
drove  off. 

"  I  did  my  best,"  the  boy  whimpered,  rubbing 
his  ear. 

But  Maurice  was  watching  the  bobbing  of  the 
priest's  silk  hat  as  the  trap  rattled  up  the  street  at 
a  brisk  pace.  As  it  disappeared  out  of  sight  round 
the  bend,  he  had  a  dull  feeling  of  resentment. 

"  Now  that  he's  gone,  send  me  out  another 
class.  I'm  waiting  for  'em,"  Driscoll  said,  leaning 
over  the  hedge  that  divided  his  garden  from  the 
school  yard. 

Maurice  waved  assent.  He  walked  slowly  up 
the  path.  Inside  the  school  door  Miss  Devoy  met 
him  and  whispered — 

"  I'm  feeling  myself  again,  now  he's  gone. 
Though  he's  my  own  blood  itself,  he  makes  the 
marrow  run  cold  down  my  spine." 

He  heard  her  vaguely.    All  the  freshness  seemed 


WAITING  125 

to  have  gone  out  of  the  day.  He  opened  the 
windows  wider.  It  came  as  a  shock  to  him  that 
the  sun  was  still  shining,  that  it  danced,  through  the 
gently  waving  branches  of  a  tree  in  the  playground, 
on  the  front  of  his  desk.  He  pulled  himself  together, 
sent  a  class  out  to  Master  Driscoll,  and  took  a  class 
himself.  But,  while  he  made  figures  on  the  black- 
board and  spoke  to  the  children,  he  was  thinking  of 
Father  Mahon.  He  handed  the  class  over  to  a 
monitor  and  went  out  into  the  playground.  He 
looked  longingly  at  Slieve  Mor,  stood  awhile  watch- 
ing the  class  gathered  round  Master  Driscoll.  The 
old  man  laughed,  and  there  was  a  happy  responsive 
laugh  from  the  group  of  children.  What's  wrong 
with  me  to-day  ?  Maurice  asked  himself ;  and  the  only 
answer  he  could  give  was  to  shrug  his  shoulders. 
Father  Mahon  had  not  treated  him  worse  to-day 
than  on  previous  visits.  He  was  always  rude.  To- 
day he  was  less  aggressive  than  usual.  Only  once, 
when  he  struck  the  boy  with  the  whip,  had  he  felt 
like  hitting  him.  During  other  visits  Maurice  had  to 
restrain  himself  half  a  dozen  times  in  as  many 
minutes.  Master  Driscoll  had  put  up  with  the  priest 
for  years  ;  but  then  Master  Driscoll  had  the  temper  of 
a  saint.  With  a  sigh,  as  if  this  was  something  quite 
beyond  him,  Maurice  went  back  to  his  work. 

Father  Mahon,  however,  troubled  his  thoughts 
all  through  the  school  hours.  And  at  dinner  in  the 
afternoon  he  said  abruptly  to  Driscoll— 

"  How  did  you  put  up  with  him  so  long  ? " 
"Oh,  the  P.P.,"  Driscoll  said,  after  a  moment's 
doubt  as  to  whom  Maurice  referred.  "  I  suppose  I 
took  him  as  a  penance  for  my  sins.  You  see,  I  had 
a  good  start  under  old  Father  Boland,  a  grand  man 
that  knew  what  real  education  was,  and  cared  for  it. 


126  WAITING 

Father  James  neither  knows  nor  cares.  His  only 
idea  was  to  boss  me  and  the  children,  and  to  make 
us  fetch  and  carry  for  him." 

The  old  man  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and 
regarded  the  ceiling  attentively. 

"  It's  a  queer  system  that  makes  directors  of 
education  of  men  that  don't  care  a  pin  about  it,  and 
only  use  it  for  their  own  ends,"  Maurice  said 
moodily. 

"  It  is  then.  But  what  can't  be  cured  must  be 
endured.  The  priests  have  the  schools.  Thank 
God  there's  many  a  good  man  among  them. 
They're  a  mixed  lot,  God  forgive  me,  like  the  con- 
tents of  Tommy  Hinnissey's  breeches  pockets — a 
top  that  spins  true,  and  one  with  a  crooked  peg  that'd 
drive  you  crazy  ;  a  glass  tawe  with  the  colours  of 
the  rainbow  in  it  that's  not  much  good  except  to 
look  at ;  china  tawes  that  might  run  straight  and 
that  mightn't,  and  a  lot  of  common  marbles  with  a 
few  useful  ones  among  'em." 

"  I  wouldn't  mind  if  they  weren't  ruining  the 
schools,"  Maurice  said  with  a  frown. 

"  That's  where  the  shoe  pinches  you,"  Driscoll 
said  with  a  smile.  "  Bide  your  time  and  you  don't 
know  what  might  happen.  I  had  Father  Boland, 
you  see,  and  the  man  that'll  follow  Father  James 
might  take  some  interest  in  the  schools.  It's  a 
queer  make  up  of  a  world,  and  I'm  always  hoping 
for  the  best." 

"Father  Mahon  might  be  here  all  his  life," 
Maurice  said  hopelessly. 

"God  send  they'll  make  a  bishop  of  him,  or 
give  him  some  promotion." 

"  In  the  next  shuffle  we  might  get  worse." 

"There's   some   truth    in   that,"   Driscoll   said 


WAITING  127 

thoughtfully.  "After  all,  Father  James  has  his 
good  points.  I  soon  found  out  that  his  only  idea 
of  managing  the  school  was  to  make  a  kind  of 
servant  of  me,  to  stand  at  the  chapel  door  for  him 
and  make  collections,  to  copy  letters  and  run 
messages,  and  let  him  act  the  tyrant  over  me  in 
front  of  the  school  and  the  whole  parish.  It 
took  some  trampling  of  myself  to  stifle  the  pride 
that  was  in  me.  But  once  I  did,  what  happened  ? 
He  came  into  the  school  three  or  four  times  a  year 
and  stood  on  my  neck  for  five  minutes.  The  rest 
of  the  time  I  had  it  all  to  myself.  He  never  knew 
what  I  was  teaching.  He  signed  papers  without 
reading  them.  As  long  as  the  children  were  able  to 
roll  out  the  penny  catechism  like  a  lot  of  parrots  at 
the  confirmation  examinations,  he  never  gave  any 
heed  to  what  I  was  doing  in  the  school.  Except 
when  he  wanted  me  to  help  him  in  his  own  affairs, 
or  wanted  a  boy  to  work  in  his  garden,  or  to  run 
into  Liscannow  on  a  message,  or  when  he  had  an 
appointment  to  make,  or  some  money  to  knock  out 
of  the  Board  for  building  and  repairs,  he  never  gave 
a  thought  to  the  school — thank  God  for  that  same. 
For  it  often  came  between  me  and  my  night's  rest 
that  some  day  he'd  be  messing  about  his  real  business 
as  a  manager,  and  then  where  would  the  school 
be  ? " 

"  Some  day  I'll  throw  an  inkpot  at  his  head,  and 
he  might  then,"  Maurice  said  bitterly. 

Driscoll  held  up  his  hands  in  horror.  "  And  he 
having  the  power  of  life  and  death  over  you.  And 
the  good  you're  able  to  do  on  the  blind  side  of  him 
as  long  as  there's  peace." 

"  I  haven't  your  patience,  master,"  Maurice  said, 
standing  up  and  looking  at  the  clock.  "  I  wonder 


128  WAITING 

what  he  wants   me  for   this  evening  ?     It's    nearly 
five — I  must  be  off." 

The  old  man  stood  up  and  put  his  hand  on 
Maurice's  shoulder.  "  Cool  yourself  in  the  walk 
up,"  he  said  anxiously.  "  There's  no  one  in  the 
world  without  some  cross  or  other.  Teigue  Donlon 
is  always  worrying  over  that  kicking  mare  of  his  that 
near  knocks  the  bottom  out  of  the  cart  every  market 
day  going  to  Liscannow.  If  it's  not  one  thing  it's 
another — a  shrew  of  a  wife'd  be  worse  than  a 
domineering  manager,  for  she'd  be  on  the  floor  with 
you  always,  but  you  only  see  him  once  in  a  while." 

"  He  won't  kill  me  anyway,"  Maurice  said 
laughing,  as  he  went  out. 

On  passing  the  store,  his  eye  again  caught  the 
notice  of  Miss  Barton's  lectures.  Father  James  had 
no  control  over  her,  he  thought,  and  he  smiled 
happily.  How  glad  she'd  be  to  be  back  with  the 
Crawfords.  .  .  . 

He  found  Father  Mahon  seated  at  the  desk  in 
his  study,  picking  his  teeth  with  his  little  finger,  his 
elbow  resting  on  an  open  newspaper. 

"  Oh,  is  that  you  ?  "  the  priest  said,  staring  at 
Maurice  superciliously,  and  continuing  the  operation 
on  his  teeth  with  his  tongue.  When  he  had  satis- 
factorily finished  this,  he  motioned  Maurice  to  a 
chair. 

"  Sit  down.  Here,  take  these  books — I  may 
forget  'em  again."  He  took  two  account  books  off 
the  desk.  "  Just  copy  all  the  names  from  this  old 
station  collection  book  into  this  new  one.  You'll 
have  it  done  easily  before  the  next  station." 

Maurice  took  the  books  and  was  rising  to  go 
when  the  priest  waved  his  hand. 

"  Don't  be  in  a  hurry.      How  do  you  like  your 


WAITING  129 

school  ? "  Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  he  went 
on  :  "  It's  a  great  position  for  a  young  man  like 
you  :  good  pay,  and  a  great  deal  of  the  power 
of  the  Church  over  education  delegated  to  you." 

He  got  up,  walked  to  the  fire-place,  and  stood 
with  his  back  to  the  fire  that  had  recently  been 
lighted. 

"  A  fine  position,  and  one  that  a  man  could  well 
keep  a  wife  on,"  he  continued,  rubbing  his  hands 
together  with  gusto.  "  Why,  I  expected  you  up 
here  for  a  letter  of  freedom  any  day  these  two 
last  Sarafts." 

He  laughed  loudly  at  his  own  words,  as  if  they 
held  some  humour  that  appealed  to  him.  For  a 
moment  he  looked  almost  jovial,  but  this  expression 
soon  faded  and  he  looked  down  on  Maurice  with 
a  frown. 

"  The  master  of  a  mixed  school  ought  to  be 
married,"  he  said,  sitting  down  near  Maurice.  "  I 
had  a  talk  with  your  mother  a  couple  of  months  ago, 
and  she  thought  the  same.  She  mentioned  Miss 
Devoy." 

"  I  have  no  intention  of  marrying,"  Maurice  said 
dryly. 

"  Oh,  she  said  to  give  you  time.  You're  doing 
fairly  well  in  the  school,  fairly  well.  I  wouldn't 
mind  building  a  teacher's  residence  for  you.  Ye 
wouldn't  miss  the  annuity  on  it  with  your  two 
salaries  joined  together.  As  she's  a  sort  of  relation 
of  my  own,  I'd  let  her  down  light  in  the  marriage 
money.  The  Devoys  haven't  much  but  they'd  be 
able  to  give  her  a  few  pounds,  and  I'd  add  a  few  to 
it  for  the  sake  of  the  relationship.  She's  not  up  to 
much  in  the  way  of  looks,  but  it  would  be  a  good 
marriage  for  you." 

K 


130  WAITING 

Maurice  laughed,  a  shrill  treble.  It  had  an 
uncanny  sound  to  his  own  ears  and  he  stopped  it 
abruptly. 

The  priest  gazed  at  him  in  open-mouthed 
astonishment.  But  soon  his  eyes  blazed. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  asked  angrily. 

"  I  wish  Miss  Devoy's  name  hadn't  been  brought 
into  this.  I  don't  intend  to  marry,"  Maurice  said 
in  an  even  tone.  His  nerves  were  tingling.  He 
was  not  a  little  awed  by  the  priest's  furious  face,  and 
was  surprised  at  the  firmness  of  his  own  voice. 

"  Are  you  mad  ?  "  the  priest  shouted. 

Maurice  stood  up.     Half  nervously  he  asked— 

"  Can  I  do  anything  else  for  you  ?  " 

Father  Mahon  glared  at  him  in  speechless  rage, 
pointed  to  the  door,  and  spluttered  as  Maurice 
opened  it — 

"  Teachers — scum — to  slight  me  in  my  own 
parish  !  " 


CHAPTER    IX 

FATHER    JAMES    MAHON    was    not   given    to    self- 
analysis.     All  through  his  life  he  had  taken  himself 
for    granted.      He    was    always    right.     All    who 
opposed  his  will  were  wrong.     In  any  collision  with 
external    circumstance    he,    therefore,   occupied    an 
impregnable    position.     As    a    child    he    was    his 
mother's  favourite — she  had  early  marked  him  out 
for  the  Church.     In  all  disputes  with  his  brothers 
and  sisters  she  always  upheld  him.     His  confidence 
in  himself  increased  when  he  was  told  that  he  was 
to  be  a  priest.     His  favourite  study  in  Maynooth 
was  ecclesiastical  history.     His  great  hero  was  Pope 
Innocent  III.     His  ideal  was  a  Church  ruling  with 
uncontrolled  power  over  all  the  nations  of  the  earth. 
He  knew  little  of  popes  or  of  the  nations  of  the 
earth,  and  the  little  he  learned  from  books  he  after- 
wards forgot,  but  he  clung  fast  to  his  belief  in  power. 
He  soon  saw  the  Church  in  himself.     Everything 
that  added  to  his  authority  added  to  hers.     While  a 
student  his  field  was  limited.     The  only  person  he 
completely  dominated  was  his  mother.     As  a  curate 
most  of  his  time  was  wasted  in  trying  to  manage  an 
easy-going  parish  priest  who  seemed  to  believe  that  it 
was  the  duty  of  a  priest  to  serve  the  people,  not  to 
govern  them.     Weak-minded  priests  and   bishops, 
like    Father    Barry,    Father    Mahon    felt    angrily, 
reduced  the  Church  to  its  present  foolish  policy  of 


1 32  WAITING 

expediency.     With  priests  and  bishops  like  himself 
the   Church   would  again   rule  the  world.     It  was 
then  he  wrote  his  famous  sermons  on  hell  and  on  the 
dignity  of  the  priesthood.     He  proved  by  irrefragible 
logic  that  the  priest  was  higher  than   the  Blessed 
Virgin,  in  a  sense  greater  than  Christ  Himself,  since 
he  created  Him  anew  daily  in  the  mass.     He  deter- 
mined to  bide  his  time  until  he  was  himself  a  parish 
priest.     Then  he  should  have  no  Father  Barry  to 
interfere  with  him.     When  he  got  Bourneen  parish 
he  tasted  all  the  sweets  of  power  for  some  months. 
His  housekeeper  trembled  when  he  spoke  to  her. 
Matsey    Boylan's    stammer    became    almost    unin- 
telligible  with    fright.     Teachers   grovelled    before 
him,  except   Driscoll,   and  he  was  obedient.     The 
people  seemed  submissive.     Even   the  few  Protes- 
tants, whose  presence    in    the   parish    he  resented, 
saluted    him    respectfully  as  they   passed    him    by. 
His  horizon  widened.     He  felt  that  he  ought  to  be 
a  bishop.    Then  suddenly  his  cup  had  occasionally  a 
bitter  taste.     A  curate  had  ,the  temerity  to  disobey 
him  :  with  some  difficulty  he  was  removed.     Things 
seemed  to  happen  in  the  parish  without  his  know- 
ledge.    He  consoled  himself  with  the  thought  that 
the  people  had  been  badly  trained  under  the  last  parish 
priest ;  some  day  he  would  exert  all  his  authority 
and  bring  them  well  to  heel.     While   he  was  yet 
devising  means  to  this  happy  end  the  see  of  Lis- 
cannow   fell   vacant.     Intriguing   for    the    bishopric 
took  up  much  of  his  time.     Except  for  his  farming 
and  his  sermons  on  Sundays,  he  neglected  the  parish. 
He  hadn't  time  to  manage  the  negotiations  which 
changed  most  of  the  tenants  into  landowners.     Co- 
operative societies,  which  he  didn't  much  like,  and 
Irish   classes,   which  he  disliked,  had  been  set  up. 


WAITING  133 

After  his  disappointment  in  the  bishopric  he  began 
to  take  his  parish  in  hand  again.  The  dues  were 
readjusted  to  the  changed  conditions.  His  farming 
and  the  renewed  prospect  of  the  bishopric  were  both 
favourable. 

And  now,  this  bolt  from  the  blue  ! 

He  sat  hunched  in  front  of  the  fire,  biting  his 
nails,  after  Maurice's  departure.  He  was  not  think- 
ing much.  He  was  incapable  of  consecutive  thought. 
He  was  bitterly  offended,  outraged.  A  wave  of  self- 
pity  passed  through  him.  Tears  came  into  his  eyes. 
But  this  mood  did  not  last  long.  He  jumped  up, 
and  stood  frowning  at  the  elm  tree  across  the  road. 
A  teacher,  of  all  the  people  in  the  world,  to  turn  on 
him  !  he  thought  bitterly,  protruding  his  jaw.  A 
fellow  he  could  crush  like  a  clod  of  earth  under  his 
heel  !  He  ground  his  heel  on  the  carpet.  This 
action  calmed  him  considerably.  His  mind  shifted 
to  cattle.  Should  he  sell  those  bullocks  now  or 
wait  till  October  ?  The  agricultural  inspector  he 
met  at  the  bishop's  didn't  know  everything.  There 
was  more  profit  in  fattening  off  young  stock,  no 
doubt,  if  one  paid  for  the  feed.  But  when  one 
had  free  grass  ?  He  sat  at  his  desk  and  accepted 
an  invitation  to  dinner  at  Dr.  Hannigan's.  He 
permitted  himself  a  mild  clerical  joke.  He  read  it 
over  aloud  and  laughed  appreciatively.  He  wrote 
"  James  Mahon,  P.P.,"  at  the  end  with  a  flourish. 
He  addressed  an  envelope  to  the  bishop.  The 
"  D.D."  seemed  to  fascinate  him.  He  began 
scribbling  on  a  loose  sheet  of  paper,  "James 
Mahon "  half  a  dozen  times.  Then,  "  James 
Mahon,  D.D.  ; "  then,  « James  Mahon,  D.D.," 
and,  under  it,  "  Bishop  of  Liscannow."  He  tried 
it  in  Latin,  "Jacobus  Mahon,  D.D.,  Episcopus 


i34  WAITING 

Liscannowensis,"  and  gazed  at  it  with  an  approving 
frown. 

The  figure  of  Maurice  Blake  came  between 
him  and  the  paper,  and  the  frown  lost  all  its  lighter 
qualities.  His  eyebrows  descended  to  the  middle 
of  his  nose.  That  fellow  looked  so  cool,  too,  not  a 
bit  afraid  of  him,  he  thought  pettishly.  He  stood 
up  and  walked  between  the  window  and  the  fire- 
place. He  rang  for  tea,  and  as  he  gulped  it  down 
he  recalled  his  generosity  and  unselfishness  in 
regard  to  the  marriage.  His  anger  grew  again. 
That  girl  of  the  Devoys  was  very  little  to  him,  only 
a  second  cousin  once  removed.  Still  he  wanted  to 
do  her  a  good  turn,  and  Blake  would  have  had 
the  handling  of  her  pay  as  well  as  his  own.  The 
protuberance  at  his  waist-line  visibly  swelled  with 
indignation.  Blake  was  a  fool,  incapable  of  seeing 
what  was  for  his  good.  He  didn't  expect  gratitude 
from  any  one,  least  of  all  from  teachers.  The  world 
was  selfish,  but  Blake  was  worse  than  ungrateful,  he 
was  rebellious.  He  threw  the  girl  back  in  the  face 
of  his  manager,  his  parish  priest !  What  would  the 
Church  come  to  if  it  tolerated  offences  like  that  ? 
This  new  aspect  of  the  question  lent  a  certain  grave 
dignity  to  his  figure.  His  frown  became  more 
thoughtful.  There  was  no  sign  of  rain  in  the  sky, 
he  said  to  himself,  as  he  glanced  through  the  window. 
He  would  give  instructions  that  Hinnissey  should 
plough  the  turnip  field  if  he  came  to-morrow.  It 
was  early  yet  for  turnips,  but  .  .  . 

He  went  to  the  fire-place  and  poked  the  fire. 
He  struck  a  sod  vigorously,  and  a  few  small  pieces 
flew  out  on  the  hearthrug.  He  trod  on  them. 
What  was  this  behaviour  of  Blake's  but  the 
beginning  of  anti-clericalism  ?  There  was  a  lot  of 


WAITING  135 

it  about,  but  it  should  take  no  root  in  his  parish 
while  he  had  the  life  left  in  him  to  prevent  it.  And 
what  was  anti-clericalism  but  heresy  and  a  trampling 
on  all  morality  and  all  religion  ?  How  could  even 
a  breath  of  such  an  evil  arise  in  a  parish  of  his,  with 
his  sermons  and  care  for  the  souls  and  bodies  of  his 
people  ? 

This  thought  worried  him  a  little.  He  gazed 
moodily  at  the  fire,  now  glowing  brightly.  He 
gave  a  sigh  of  relief  as  a  new  thought  came  to  him. 
It  was  the  curate's  fault,  of  course.  But  this  relief 
did  not  last.  His  thoughts  suddenly  took  on  an 
angry  hue.  Curates  always  worked  mischief.  And 
Malone  had  no  idea  of  the  dignity  of  the  priesthood. 
He  dragged  it  in  the  mud  by  letting  the  people 
presume  on  him  ;  by  being  hand  and  glove  with  every 
Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry  in  the  parish — often  having 
Driscoll  or  Blake  in  to  spend  the  evening  with  him  ; 
even  visiting  them  as  if  they  were  his  equals.  .  .  . 

He  took  up  a  newspaper,  but  it  was  too  dark 
to  read  with  comfort.  He  put  out  his  hand  to 
ring  for  the  lamp,  hesitated  and  got  up.  He  would 
see  Father  Malone  that  very  night  and  have  a  talk 
with  him,  he  decided. 

Malone  had  his  uses  of  course,  he  thought, 
during  the  short  walk  to  the  village.  He  said  the 
late  masses,  attended  all  the  night  calls,  and  never 
made  a  fuss  over  going  to  the  poorer  sick-calls  that 
it  wasn't  worth  a  parish  priest's  while  to  attend — 
maybe  a  half-crown  mass  offering;  maybe  nothing 
at  all.  The  devil  you  know  is  better  than  the  devil 
you  don't  know,  and  if  he  got  rid  of  Malone  he 
might  get  worse.  He'd  be  wary  enough  in  talking 
with  him,  but  he'd  take  right  good  care  he'd  shorten 
his  rope  in  the  parish.  .  .  . 


136  WAITING 

He  knocked  loudly  at  Father  Malone's  door, 
which  was  opened,  after  a  few  minutes,  by  the  curate 
himself. 

"  Maria  out  craw-thumping  as  usual  ?  "  Father 
Mahon  said,  setting  his  face  to  the  frown  he  intended 
for  a  smile,  as  he  laid  his  overcoat  and  silk  hat  on  a 
table  in  the  hall. 

"  1  dare  say  she  is  in  the  church." 

"  I  let  mine  out  only  to  mass  on  Sundays.  If 
you  don't  learn  to  control  your  servant,  you'll  never 
be  able  to  manage  a  parish,"  Father  Mahon  said 
with  a  harsh  laugh. 

Father  Malone  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
pointed  the  way  to  his  sitting-room. 

"  Not  a  bad  little  house  for  a  curate,"  Father 
Mahon  said,  looking  round  the  room  complacently. 
"It  was  Board  of  Works  money,  of  course,  but  I 
practically  built  it  myself." 

Father  Malone  pointed  ruefully  to  the  wall  by 
the  window,  where  the  green  paper  was  discoloured 
and  hung  loose  about  the  skirting. 

Father  Mahon  took  the  lamp  in  his  hand  and 
examined  the  paper. 

"  That'll  dry  out.  It's  only  a  few  years  built," 
he  said,  a  little  crossly. 

"  Six,"  Father  Malone  said  laconically. 

"That's  new,"  Father  Mahon  said,  lifting  the 
lamp  so  that  the  light  shone  higher  on  the  wall,  and 
nodding  towards  a  picture. 

"  It's  rather  nice,"  Father  Malone  said  brighten- 
ing. "  A  pastel.  It's  only  a  sketch,  but  see  how 
he  got  the  twilight — and  that  effect  of  the  crescent 
moon  over  the  shoulder  of  the  figure." 

"  I  thought  it  was  a  rake  she  was  carrying," 
Father  Mahon  said  indifferently.  "  If  you  want  to 


WAITING 


137 


see  pictures  drop  in  one  evening  and  I'll  show  you 
some,"  he  added,  putting  the  lamp  on  the  table. 
"  1  bought  a  dozen  beauties  from  a  travelling 
German  man  the  other  day.  He  wanted  five 
pounds,  but  I  cut  him  down  to  three,  and  they're 
dirt  cheap  at  the  money." 

His  eyes  wandered  round  the  room  with  a  look 
of  contempt — to  another  pastel  ;  a  few  pen  and  ink 
sketches  ;  a  few  prints  ;  long,  open  book  shelves 
of  white  enamelled  deal,  and  a  worn  and  faded  carpet. 

"  You  pick  up  enough  money  in  this  parish 
to  do  better,"  he  said  condescendingly. 

"  Take  this  armchair.  It's  the  most  comfort- 
able," Father  Malone  said  dryly,  pushing  it  close  to 
the  fender. 

Father  Mahon  sat  down,  spread  his  hands  to  the 
blaze,  at  which  he  gazed  thoughtfully  with  a  deeply 
lined  brow. 

Father  Malone  sat  at  the  other  corner  of  the 
fender  and  lit  a  pipe. 

"  There's  no  use  asking  you  to  smoke,"  he 
said. 

"  It's  a  dirty  habit,"  Father  Mahon  said,  spitting 
at  the  fire. 

"  A  glass  of  punch  ?  " 

"  No — I  don't  think  I  will.  A  teetotaller  never 
keeps  good  whiskey,"  with  an  ungracious  laugh. 

"  Maria  will  get  some  tea  when  she  comes  in." 

"  I  had  my  own,  but  I'll  take  a  cup.  This 
parish  weighs  so  heavy  on  my  mind  that  I  slipped 
my  tea  down  without  feeling  the  good  of  it." 

"  What's  wrong  now  ?  "  Father  Malone  said 
smiling. 

"  Oh,  one  thing  and  another,"  Father  Mahon 
said  fretfully. 


138  WAITING 

"  The  country  is  coming  to  a  queer  pass,"  he 
said  abruptly,  after  a  few  minutes'  silence,  straighten- 
ing himself  in  his  chair  and  frowning  at  the  curate. 

Father  Malone  shook  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe 
into  the  grate,  tapped  the  empty  pipe  on  his  knee, 
his  blue  eyes  fixed  dreamily  on  the  fire. 

"  There  is  movement,"  he  said.  "  That  is  a 
great  thing." 

"  There  is.  Down  the  hill  to  the  devil,"  Father 
Mahon  said  angrily. 

The  curate  took  off  his  glasses,  wiped  them,  put 
them  on  again,  clasped  his  hands,  which  still  held 
his  pipe,  round  his  knees,  and  looked  at  Father 
Mahon,  a  smile  playing  on  the  corners  of  his  lips. 

This  seemed  to  irritate  Father  Mahon.  His 
lips  and  eyebrows  twitched  spasmodically. 

"  You're  little  better  than  a  fool,"  he  said,  "talking 
that  nonsense.  There  isn't  as  much  sense  in  you 
young  fellows  as  there  is  in  the  head  of  a  torn-tit.  I 
tell  you  the  people  are  growing  out  of  their  skins. 
Only  last  Saraft  Thady  Finucane  had  the  impudence 
to  rise  against  the  marriage  money  I  put  on  his 
daughter.  Do  you  think  any  good'll  come  to  the 
parish  when  the  likes  of  that  happens  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  the  parish'll  benefit  by  the  improve- 
ment of  Thady's  farm.  He's  putting  every  penny 
he  can  spare  into  draining  that  bottom  land  of  his," 
Father  Malone  said  quietly. 

"  I'm  thinking  of  the  people's   souls,"  Father 

Mahon  said  loudly.     "  You "He  bit  his  lip, 

restrained  his  anger  with  difficulty  and  said,  with  an 
attempt  at  a  friendly  tone — 

"  It's  a  nice  parish  you'd  have  the  ruling  of, 
when  it  comes  to  your  turn,  if  there  wasn't  the  like 
of  me  to  advise  you.  I'm  not  blaming  you  much. 


WAITING 


'39 


You're  young  yet  and  don't  know  the  difference. 
Take  my  word  for  it,  the  only  way  to  rule  the 
people  is  to  keep  a  tight  hand  on  them." 

Maria  came  in  with  a  tray  which  she  laid  on  a 
chair.  "  I  heard  your  voice  in  the  hall  so  I  brought 
a  second  cup,"  she  said  to  Father  Mahon.  She 
spread  a  cloth  over  the  half  of  the  table  nearest  the 
priests. 

a  I'm  heard  where  I'm  not  seen,"  he  said 
pompously. 

"  Bedad  you  are,"  she  said  dryly.  "  It's  what  I 
was  remarking  to  Father  Malone  himself  to-day 
about  Tim  Carty's  ass,  and  he  braying  in  the  field 
the  other  side  of  the  hedge.  I — 

"That  will  do,  Maria,  thank  you,"  Father  Malone 
said  hastily.  "  I'll  finish  laying  the  table.  Would 
you  take  those  papers  in  the  hall  down  to  Mr. 
Driscoll's  ? " 

"  I  could  easily  do  both,"  she  said.  "  The 
night  is  long,  and  1  was  just  saying — 

Father  Malone  took  the  tray  out  of  her  hands, 
and  she  left  the  room  grumbling. 

"  I'd  pitch  her  out  neck  and  crop,"  Father 
Mahon  said  scowling.  "  The  cheeky  old  hag  !  " 

Father  Malone  smiled  at  the  tray.  "  Do  you 
like  your  tea  strong  ?  "  he  asked  mildly. 

Father  Mahon  was  now  in  a  sulky  rage.  "  1 
do,"  he  said  shortly. 

He  ate  a  thick  slice  of  bread  and  butter  in 
silence,  drank  a  cup  of  tea  in  a  gulp  and  banged 
the  cup  on  the  saucer.  Maria  evidently  rankled  in 
his  mind.  He  pushed  away  his  plate  and  it  rattled 
against  the  tray. 

"  If  I  thought  she  meant  that  for  me  I'd  give 
her  a  reading  to,"  he  said. 


140  WAITING 

"  It's  not  much  good  lecturing  Maria,"  Father 
Malone  said  apologetically. 

"  Your  lecturing  of  her,  you  mean,"  Father 
Mahon  said,  standing  up.  "  It's  no  wonder  things'd 
be  as  they  are  with  the  kind  of  weak-minded 
curates  I  get." 

The  curate  shrugged  his  shoulders,  laughed 
softly  and  went  on  eating. 

"  It's  no  laughing  matter — and  the  parish  going 
to  the  dogs,"  Father  Mahon  said,  after  glaring  at 
him  for  a  few  seconds.  He  turned  to  the  fire,  bit 
his  nails  and  kicked  restlessly  at  the  fender. 

"  If  you'd  only  tell  me  what's  wrong  ?  "  Father 
Malone  said.  He  stood  up  and  began  to  fill  a  pipe. 

"What    have  I  done?    I'd  rather  have  it  straight 

x.  » 
out. 

"  How  thin-skinned  we  are  !  Did  I  say  you 
did  anything  wrong  ?  A  parish  priest  can't  open  his 
mouth  but  he's  flared  up  at  like  this,"  Father 
Mahon  said,  flopping  back  into  his  armchair. 

Father  Malone  sighed,  lit  his  pipe,  sat  down 
and  smoked  quietly. 

"  You're  too  thick  with  those  schoolmasters  in  the 
village  for  one  thing.  I  never  cared  much  for  old 
Driscoll,  but  he's  a  king  to  that  conceited  young 
pup  that  1  was  fool  enough  to  give  the  school  to 
after  him." 

"  Giving  Maurice  Blake  Bourneen  was  the  best 
day's  work  you  ever  did  for  the  parish,"  Father 
Malone  said  emphatically.  He  put  a  few  sods  of 
turf  on  the  fire  and  patted  them  carefully  into  place 
with  the  tongs. 

"  If  the  school  was  vacant  again,  he'd  whistle 
for  it." 

This  remark  of  Father  Mahon's  roused  Father 


WAITING  141 

Malone  to  fresh  vigour  with  the  tongs.  He  was  a 
little  flushed.  A  tightening  of  the  lips  and  a  gleam 
behind  his  glasses  hardened  his  mobile  face.  He 
struck  a  live  sod  sharply  and  a  cloud  of  golden 
sparks  ascended  the  chimney.  His  anger  seemed  to 
go  with  them. 

"  This  is  a  joke,  I  suppose  ?  Maurice  Blake 
conceited  !  "  he  laughed  lightly. 

"  You  might  laugh  at  the  wrong  side  of  your 
mouth  yet  unless  you're  said  by  me.  I  know  that 
fellow  and  you  don't.  I  can  read  his  face  like  a 
book.  He's  bad  in  and  out,  I  tell  you." 

Father  Malone  leant  back  in  his  chair  and  gazed 
at  the  parish  priest  curiously  with  level  eyes. 

"  What  has  he  done  to  you  ? "  he  asked 
ironically. 

This  was  too  much  for  Father  Mahon.  He 
stood  up  and  towered  angrily  over  the  curate  whose 
unflinching  eyes  seemed  to  provoke  him  to  further 
anger. 

"He "  he  foamed.     "What  could  a  worm 

like  him  do  to  me  ? "  he  asked,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation.  "  It's  his  disrespect  for  the  Church  I 
object  to.  I  never  think  of  myself.  But  I  have  a 
position  to  maintain.  The  way  that  fellow  stands 
and  looks  at  me,  his  parish  priest  and  manager, 
when  I  call  at  his  school !  He's  meddling,  too,  in 
the  affairs  of  the  parish — those  societies  and  that 
tupenny  ha'penny  bank.  Neglecting  the  work  he's 
paid  for  !  " 

"  Barring  Driscoll,  he's  the  best  teacher  you 
ever  had." 

"  He's  a  downright  scamp,  that's  what  he  is.    If 
ever  a  man  was  put  in  his  place  I'll  put  him  there." 

Father    Malone   shrugged    his   shoulders.      "  I 


I42  WAITING 

don't  think  I  care  to  discuss  my  friends,"  he  said 
quietly. 

"  If  I  find  you  backing  people  that  rebel  against 
me  the  bishop  will  hear  of  it,"  Father  Mahon  said 
with  a  menacing  look. 

Father  Malone  made  no  reply.  Father  Mahon 
walked  up  and  down  the  room,  giving  an  occasional 
furtive  glance  at  the  curate,  who  was  gazing  wearily 
at  the  fire.  A  pleased  look  gradually  overspread 
Father  Mahon's  face,  and  he  muttered  to  himself, 
"  That  knocked  the  stuffing  out  of  him."  He  sat 
down  again  and  gave  an  uneasy  boisterous  laugh. 

"  I'm  too  good  a  friend  to  you  to  fight  with  you, 
Malone,"  he  said  ingratiatingly. 

He  waited  for  a  reply,  but  as  Father  Malone 
said  nothing,  his  eyes  gleamed  again.  With  an 
effort  he  mastered  his  temper  and  said  soberly— 

"  If  I  spoke  to  you  it  was  for  your  good.  The 
old  dog  for  the  long  road  !  and  I  can  read  the  signs 
of  the  times  better  than  a  young  curate  like  you. 
Priests  must  stand  together  in  defence  of  the  old 
Church.  She  needs  the  best  that's  in  every  one  of 
us.  The  devil  is  busy  sowing  ideas  in  people's 
heads,  and  we've  got  to  pluck  'em  out  by  the  roots. 
Give  the  people  an  inch  and  they'll  take  an  ell.  If 
once  we  let  go  our  hold  of  the  reins,  they'll  take  the 
bit  between  their  teeth.  Believe  you  me,  the  fear  of 
hell  in  the  marrow  of  their  bones,  and  absolute 
obedience  to  their  priests  is  the  only  salvation  for  the 
people  of  this  country.  You're  too  mild  with  them. 
Mind,  I'm  not  finding  fault  with  your  sermons  on 
charity,  and  bearing  one  another's  burthens  and  the 
like — they're  nice  little  things  in  their  way  ;  but  if 
you'd  only  take  a  leaf  out  of  my  book,  and  give  'em 
hell  and  the  dignity  of  the  priesthood,  the  parish'd 


WAITING  143 

be  all  the  better  for  it.     And  I'm  all  for  the  people 
when  it's  for  their  good.      Land  purchase  was  all 
right.      It    turned    a    lot    of  Protestant    land    into 
Catholic  hands,  and  it  gave  the  people  a  chance — 
not  that  they  were  too  willing  to  take  it — to  give 
more    respectable    support    to   their   hard-working 
clergy.     And  there's  the  tidy  farm  attached  to  the 
parochial  house  that  I  bought  in  cheap  myself,  that'll 
cheer    the    heart   of  future   generations    of    parish 
priests    of  Bourneen.      Who    knows    but   yourself 
might  have  it  one  day  !     I'm  in  two  minds  about 
this  co-operation.     On  the  one  hand,  it  makes  the 
people  better  off.     On  the  other  hand,  it  gives  them 
airs  of  being  able  to  do  things  without  the  help  of  their 
parish  priest.    It'd  be  better  for  the  Church  any  day 
that  they'd  be  living  in  muck  than  have  that  kind  of 
independence.       I    was    busy    over   one  thing    and 
another   and   I   had  to  let  you  mess   about   these 
societies.     The  opposition  to  them  is  dying  down  a 
bit  too.     Now  that  I've  more  time  on  my  hands  I'll 
take  my  proper  place  at  the  front  of  them,  and  see 
if  I  can't  head  them  in  the  right  direction.     I  may 
or  may  not  be  long  in  the  parish — that's  in  God's 
hands — but  while  I'm  in  it  I'm  going  to  be  master 
in   my  own  house.     But  now  that  we're  having  a 
friendly  chat,   I   give  you  friendly  warning  that  I'll 
have  no  truck  with  the  Irish  language.     You  know 
my  mind  on  it  already.    If  there  was  any  good  to  be 
got  out  of  it  I'd  be  the  first  to  see  it,  and  I  speaking 
it  from  the  cradle,  in  my  father's  house.     It's  leading 
to    all    kinds    of  devilry.       Up    to  this   I've    only 
given  an  odd  side-blast  against  it  in  a  sermon  ;  but 
1  tell  you  straight,  so  that  you  can  draw  out  of  it  in 
time,  that  I'll  drive  it  out  of  the  schools  and  out  of 
the  parish." 


i44  WAITING 

He  wound  up  the  long  speech  on  a  hectoring 
note,  slapping  his  leg  with  his  open  palm.  He 
noticed  that  Father  Malone  was  watching  the  fire 
with  a  troubled  face. 

"  Don't  be  sitting  there  like  a  stuck  pig.  If 
you've  got  anything  to  say  out  with  it,"  he  said  in 
a  self-satisfied  voice. 

Father  Malone  roused  himself.  "  Is  there  any 
hope  of  arguing  you  out  of  these  views  ?  "  he  asked 
despairingly. 

Father  Mahon  looked  at  him  compassionately. 
He  took  a  snufF-box  from  his  waistcoat  pocket  and 
tapped  it. 

"  You  might  know  me  better.  I  could  no  more 
be  moved  than  Slieve  Mor,  when  once  I've  made 
up  my  mind  to  a  thing.  And  for  why  ?  Because 
I  know  I'm  right,"  he  said  complacently.  He 
opened  the  box  and  took  a  huge  pinch  in  each 
nostril.  "  There's  no  more  to  be  said.  It's  for  the 
parish  priest  to  lay  down  the  law,  and  for  the  curate 
to  obey,"  he  added,  rising.  "  Come  and  have  a 
bite  of  dinner  with  me  to-morrow,  and  I'll  put 
more  common  sense  into  you." 

"  I  think  I  ought  to  say,"  Father  Malone  said, 
"  that  I  disagree  with  almost  every  word  you  said." 

Father  Mahon  looked  him  all  over  with  a 
supercilious  frown,  laughed  and  said — 

"  Curates  always  come  round.  When  I  lead  a 
horse  to  the  water,  I  usually  make  him  drink.  If 
he  doesn't,  it's  so  much  the  worse — for  the  horse. 
Why,  what's  this  ? "  he  added,  catching  sight  of  a 
poster  pinned  to  the  side  of  a  standing  desk  by  the 
window. 

"Those  poultry  lectures,"  Father  Malone  said 
coldly. 


WAITING  145 

"  Who  in  the  world  got  her  here  ? "  Father 
Mahon  said,  when  he  had  read  to  the  end. 

"  The  Agricultural  Society." 

"  It's  time  I  took  it  out  of  your  hands.  Bring- 
ing in  women  to  trapse  round  my  parish  !  Some 
fool  of  a  girl  that  doesn't  know  a  cock  from  a  hen. 
Barton — that's  not  a  Catholic  name,"  he  added 
frowning. 

"She's  a  Protestant,  I  believe — a  niece  of  John 
Crawford's." 

"  What  is  the  world  coming  to  ?  And  my  own 
curate  having  a  hand  in  it  too  !  I  can't  turn  my 
back  for  a  minute  but  these  things  are  happening. 
This  is  the  thin  end  of  the  wedge  to  get  education 
out  of  the  hands  of  the  Church.  It's  rank  atheism 
to  bring  a  Protestant  woman  to  teach  anything  in  a 
Catholic  parish  like  this." 

He  stalked  out  of  the  room  and  banged  the 
front  door  behind  him. 

Meanwhile,  on  leaving  the  parochial  house, 
Maurice  Blake  had  taken  the  Liscannow  road.  He 
had  some  work  to  do  at  home,  but  he  had  gone 
nearly  two  miles  out  of  his  way  before  he  noticed 
his  direction.  He  moved  the  account  books  from 
under  one  arm  to  the  other  and  laughed.  It  was 
ludicrous,  he  said  aloud,  but  his  laugh  had  a  hollow 
ring  and  his  words  did  not  convince  him.  He  had 
walked  hitherto  with  a  vague  feeling  of  restlessness, 
almost  without  thought,  his  eyes,  however,  alert  to 
the  changing  colour  of  the  sky,  crimson  and  orange 
and  translucent  green.  He  stood  for  a  moment 
hesitating,  and,  without  coming  to  any  decision, 
walked  on.  It  was  quite  dark  under  the  trees  as  the 
road  skirted  the  Durrisk  demesne.  The  high  wall 


146  WAITING 

echoed  his  footsteps.  He  went  slowly  past  the 
big  iron  gates  and  thought  of  the  ghost  that  was 
said  to  haunt  the  avenue.  He  felt  almost  as  if  he 
expected  to  see  it,  his  nerves  were  so  jumpy.  He 
tightened  his  fingers  on  the  books  and  thought  again 
of  Father  Mahon.  There  was  nothing  to  worry 
about.  It  was  all  a  joke  of  the  priest's.  Even  if 
it  wasn't,  what  could  he  do  to  injure  him  ?  The 
priest's  face  seemed  to  stand  out  luminously  in  the 
dark.  He  shivered  a  little.  He  pulled  himself 
together  and  increased  his  pace.  A  manager  wasn't 
an  autocrat  in  these  days.  A  teacher  was  a  servant 
of  the  state,  not  of  the  priest.  He  whistled  a  lively 
jig  tune.  .  .  . 

The  tea-things  were  still  on  the  table  in  the 
kitchen  when  he  got  home. 

"  What  in  the  world  kept  you  this  late  ? " 
Driscoll  said. 

"  I  walked  to  Liscannow,  and  sat  awhile  on  the 
quay  watching  the  boats." 

"  What  did  the  big  man  want  of  you  ?  " 

Maurice  told  him. 

The  old  man  listened  attentively  but  did  not 
speak  for  some  time. 

"  'Twas  honester  by  the  girl  to  speak  straight 
out,"  he  said  musingly.  "  Though  I'd  as  lief  you 
gave  him  a  softer  answer.  Maybe  no  harm'll  come 
of  it." 

Later,  as  he  seemed  to  pore  over  a  book, 
Maurice  heard  him  say  above  his  breath,  "  He's  a 
cruel  hard  man  to  be  up  against.  Thank  God,  he 
can't  break  a  man's  soul." 


CHAPTER   X 

A  DEPUTATION  from  the  Agricultural  Society,  con- 
sisting of  Driscoll  and  Larry  Reardon,  called  on 
Father  Mahon  and  asked  him  for  the  use  of  the 
schoolroom  for  Miss  Barton's  lectures.  He 
hummed  and  hawed,  bit  his  nails  and  peremptorily 
refused.  He  declined  to  preside  at  her  opening 
lecture.  There  was  some  murmuring  at  the  subse- 
quent meeting  of  the  society.  Hinnissey  said  that 
it  was  a  queer  thing  that  the  say  of  one  man,  no 
matter  how  high  and  mighty  he  was,  should  make 
smithereens  of  the  wishes  of  the  people,  and  the 
schoolhouse,  in  a  kind  of  a  way,  belonging  to  them 
too.  Tom  Blake  was  strongly  of  opinion  that  by 
rights  they  could  force  in  the  door.  But  his  father's 
milder  counsel  prevailed.  A  priest  was  a  priest,  he 
said,  and  in  an  affair  of  the  sort  it  might  be  better 
in  the  long  run  to  try  and  spell  out  a  way  of  cir- 
cumventing him  than  to  take  a  short  cut,  and  maybe 
break  their  heads  agin  a  stone  wall  at  the  end  of  it. 
The  corrugated-iron  manure  shed  belonging  to  the 
society,  empty  at  this  season,  was  swept  and  gar- 
nished. The  mud  of  years  was  partially  scrubbed 
off  the  boarded  floor.  Seats  were  borrowed  through- 
out the  village.  Master  Driscoll  decked  the  lecturer's 
table  with  his  sweetest  scented  flowers,  which,  to 
some  extent,  neutralized  the  pervasive  smell  of 
guano.  Here,  with  Father  Malone  in  the  chair, 
Alice  Barton  was  to  give  her  first  lecture. 


i48  WAITING 

Maurice  Blake  sat  in  an  obscure  corner,  whither 
the  feeble  light  of  the  few  hanging  lamps,  slung 
temporarily  from  the  open  rafters,  scarcely  penetrated. 
He  had  spent  an  anxious  fortnight.  Every  day  for 
a  week  he  expected  Father  Mahon  to  interfere  with 
his  work.  But  the  priest  had  not  come  to  the  school 
and  on  Sunday  he  preached  his  mildest  sermon 
with  a  preoccupied  air.  After  mass  Driscoll  had 
"  sounded "  Father  Malone,  who  said,  laughing, 
that  the  Bishop  of  Droomeen  was  ill  again  and 
that  Father  Mahon  would  not  bother  much  about 
the  parish  till  the  bishop  was  dead  or  well.  This 
news  relieved  Maurice  for  a  few  hours,  but  he  soon 
began  to  worry  about  the  success  of  Alice  Barton's 
lecture.  It  was  a  busy  time  with  the  farmers. 

"  Do  you  think  they'll  turn  up  ?  "  he  asked 
Master  Driscoll  a  dozen  times. 

"And  the  meeting  fixed  for  half  an  hour  after 
dusk.  The  whole  parish'll  be  there,  you'll  see." 

This  comforting  assurance  did  not,  however, 
ease  his  mind.  It  was  some  relief  to  him  that  Alice 
had  actually  arrived  at  the  Crawfords'.  But  despite 
all  his  efforts  his  anxiety  persisted.  Master  Driscoll 
asked  him  to  be  on  the  look-out  for  the  girl  and 
to  show  her  the  way  in  to  the  store  when  she 
arrived. 

He  accepted  this  duty  gladly,  but  a  few  hours 
before  the  lecture,  he  resigned  it  to  Driscoll,  on  the 
plea  that  he  had  to  see  that  everything  was  right  in- 
side. Long  before  sunset  he  came  to  the  shed, 
arranged  and  re-arranged  seats,  and  moved  the  vase 
of  flowers  from  one  corner  of  the  table  to  another. 
At  dusk  he  lit  the  lamps.  He  looked  at  his  watch 
every  two  or  three  minutes.  Matsey  Boylan  was 
the  first  to  arrive.  He  took  a  front  seat,  saying — 


WAITING  149 

"  I  want  to  get  a  good  view  of  her.  I  hear  she's 
a  fine  figure  of  a  girl.  And  who  knows  ?  " 

This  so  disgusted  Maurice  that  he  went  out  to 
the  yard  and  walked  up  and  down  restlessly.  He 
asked  himself  crossly  why  he  had  come  so  early — 
other  lectures  had  taken  care  of  themselves  once  all 
the  arrangements  were  made  ?  And  the  answer  came 
readily  :  the  other  lecturers  were  men,  but  this  was 
a  woman  and  a  stranger.  His  sense  of  chivalry 
soothed  him.  It  occurred  to  him  that  the  men  were 
strangers  too,  but  he  put  this  irrelevant  thought 
away.  Then  the  audience  began  to  trickle  in,  and 
he  took  his  seat. 

When  the  hall  was  about  a  third  full  he  felt  that 
the  meeting  should  be  a  success.  The  audience  was 
mostly  women,  but  the  scent  of  strong  tobacco  came 
through  the  open  door,  and  he  could  hear  men 
talking  and  laughing  in  the  yard. 

"  They're  worse  gossips  than  the  women,  them 
men  are,  with  their  excuse  of  a  shaugh  of  a  pipe. 
It'd  be  the  price  of  'em  if  they  hadn't  a  seat  to  get 
when  they  came  within,"  Mrs.  Hinnissey  said  aloud, 
a  few  seats  in  front  of  Maurice. 

"  What  do  the  poor  things  know  about  hens 
anyway  ?  "  Mrs.  Reardon  said.  "  The  wonder  to 
me  is  what  men  want  to  hear  about  'em  for  at  all." 

"If  what  Jack  read  out  of  the  weekly  paper  last 
Sunday  is  true,  we'll  be  soon  wearing  the  breeches. 
So  the  sooner  the  men  learn  about  the  hens  the 
better,"  Mrs.  Hinnissey  said  boisterously. 

"  Do  you  hear  her  now,  and  she  wearing  'em 
ever  since  she  married  Jack  Hinnissey,"  Mrs.  Rear- 
don said  slyly. 

"  There's  no  fault  to  be  found  with  any  woman 
for  doing  that  same,"  Mrs.  Blake  said  seriously. 


1 5o  WAITING 

Men  now  crowded  in  at  the  door,  soon  filled 
all  the  seats  and  stood  at  the  back  and  sides  of  the 
room. 

"She's  outside  with  the  priest  and  Master 
Driscoll,"  a  man  said,  jerking  his  thumb  back 
towards  the  door. 

After  a  short  interval  Master  Driscoll  appeared, 
and  good-humouredly  pushed  the  people  aside  to 
make  a  clear  passage  to  the  platform  of  rough  planks 
on  which  stood  the  table  and  a  few  chairs. 

"Now,  your  reverence,"  he  said  from  the 
door. 

But  it  was  Alice  Barton  who  came  forward,  a 
smiling  self-possessed  Alice  Barton,  Maurice  noticed, 
his  heart  thumping  against  his  ribs.  He  shrank 
back  into  his  seat  in  an  effort  to  get  further  away 
from  the  light.  She  took  the  cheers  of  the  audience 
quietly,  giving  a  few  little  bows  as  Driscoll  led  her 
to  the  table  with  a  gracious  courtesy  that  reminded 
Maurice  of  a  chivalrous  knight  in  a  medieval  tale  he 
had  read  sometime.  He  had  no  eyes  for  the  priest 
and  the  others  who  followed.  They  must  have 
followed,  for  the  priest  was  now  sitting  at  the  table 
with  Alice  beside  him,  chatting  with  her  as  if  she 
were  some  ordinary  person. 

She  hadn't  changed  in  the  least.  The  pink  in 
her  cheeks  was  a  shade  deeper,  and  her  eyes  sparkled 
while  the  priest  was  introducing  her.  She  even 
nodded  to  a  few  people  whom  she  recognized  in 
front.  He  was  a  little  disappointed  that  she  did 
not  nod  to  him.  But  she  couldn't  see  him — even 
if  she  did  see  him,  it  was  unlikely  that  she  would 
remember  him,  he  thought,  a  momentary  feeling  of 
satisfaction  giving  place  to  doubt.  Then  she  began 
to  speak. 


WAITING  151 

"  She's  only  a  slip  of  a  thing,"  a  man  said 
near  by. 

"  Hush,  hush,"  Maurice  said,  frowning. 

He  expected  a  different  opening — some  glimpse 
of  the  dreams  she  unfolded  to  him  in  the  Crawfords' 
kitchen.  But  it  was  all  plain  fact.  She  even  made 
small  jokes.  He  noticed  her  hands  for  the  first 
time,  and  the  width  between  her  eyes.  These 
seemed  to  explain  to  him  the  hold  she  had  on 
her  audience — and  her  wonderful  voice  that  gave 
colour  to  the  driest  details.  For  whole  minutes 
he  lost  the  thread  of  what  she  was  saying.  It  did 
not  seem  to  matter.  It  was  enough  to  see  her,  the 
light  on  her  profile.  The  oil-lamps  smoked  and 
grew  dim.  One  or  two  went  out.  He  blamed 
himself  for  having  lighted  them  so  early.  Then 
he  thought  it  was  well  that  the  hall  was  dark,  for, 
beyond  the  vague  shapes  of  the  audience,  she  seemed 
a  radiant  vision.  .  .  . 

In  a  business-like  tone  she  was  blaming  the 
lamp-lighter  when  he  next  heard  her. 

"  I  have  to  show  diagrams  and  plans  at  the  next 
lecture,"  she  said,  "  and  the  hall  must  be  better 
lighted." 

Which  was  nonsense,  he  felt,  for  the  light  from 
the  mean  paraffin  lamp  on  the  table  was  enough  to 
gild  the  wave  of  hair  that  just  touched  the  tip  of 
her  ear,  itself  a  rose-pink,  close-set  shell. 

She  sketched  her  future  programme.  The  lectures 
were  only  fireworks,  it  seemed.  The  main  part  of 
her  work  was  to  be  done  by  house-to-house  visits 
and  practical  demonstrations.  He  was  glad  that 
her  stay  seemed  to  stretch  ahead  for  months. 

Master  Driscoll  proposed  a  vote  of  thanks. 
"  In  old  ancient  times,"  he  said,  "  the  glory  of  a 


1 52  WAITING 

great  people  sprang  from  an  egg.  Who  knows 
what  the  egg  might  bring  to  Bourneen  and  to 
Ireland." 

In  homely  phrases  that  came  from  his  heart,  he 
thanked  the  lecturer. 

There  were  loud  calls  for  Master  Blake.  He 
racked  his  brains  for  something  to  say.  As  he 
got  to  his  feet  he  thought  of  her  as  the  Angel 
Gabriel,  as  Joan  of  Arc.  His  lips  were  dry,  and 
his  tongue  clave  to  his  palate.  He  clutched  the 
chair  in  front  of  him.  In  a  voice  that  sounded,  in 
his  own  ears,  harsh,  ponderous,  cold  and  inadequate, 
he  said — 

"  I  second  the  vote  of  thanks." 

There  was  a  dreadful  silence,  during  which  he 
seemed  to  fall  down  a  bottomless  pit.  Some  one 
clapped  ;  every  one  clapped.  Father  Malone  was 
speaking,  and  Maurice  felt  himself  at  rest  in  his 
chair. 

A  buzz  of  conversation  arose  after  the  final 
clapping  of  hands  at  the  close  of  the  priest's 
speech. 

"We'll  never  be  done  with  all  the  new  things 
that's  thrown  at  us — one  day  it's  a  new  way  of 
making  butter,  and  another  it's  a  new  way  of  laying 
eggs,"  Mrs.  Blake  said. 

"  When  you're  stuck  in  the  house  all  day,  it's  a 
great  relief  to  get  out  for  a  start.  She  wasn't  near 
as  exciting  as  a  mission  sermon,  but  I  wouldn't  say 
that  she  didn't  pass  the  time  well  enough,"  Mrs. 
Reardon  said,  with  a  satisfied  sigh. 

"  She  was  grand,  that's  what  she  was,"  Hanny 
said  hotly. 

Maurice  felt  grateful  to  her,  and  thought  that 
Hanny  was  almost  beautiful  in  her  angry  flush. 


WAITING  153 

"  She  didn't  make  as  many  mistakes  as  I  thought 
she  might,"  Mrs.  Blake  said  dryly.  "  Come  along 
up  home  with  us,  Maurice,"  she  added  ;  "  Mike 
wants  to  have  a  word  with  you." 

Maurice  was  the  last  to  leave  the  shed.  He 
put  out  the  lamps  and  stood  blinking  in  the  door- 
way, a  lighted  match  in  his  hand.  He  heard  the 
priest  say — 

"  Good  night,  and  thank  you  again." 

It  was  a  moonless  night.  The  match  flickered 
and  went  out.  He  saw  vague  shapes  in  the  yard. 

"  Come  over  here,"  he  heard  in  Master  Driscoll's 
voice. 

He  fumbled  with  the  lock. 

"  You  had  charge  of  the  lamps,  I'm  told.  I'm 
sorry  I  spoke  of  them  ;  but  they  were  pretty  bad, 
you  know." 

So  she  had  not  gone  yet.  He  laughed.  The 
bewildering  feeling  that  overcame  him  all  the  even- 
ing vanished  with  the  laugh. 

"  I'd  never  trust  a  man  to  trim  a  wick,"  Mrs. 
Crawford  said. 

"  How  is  the  Irish  going  on  ? "  Alice  said,  as 
she  shook  hands. 

"  Walk  up  a  bit  of  the  road  with  them.  My 
eyes  are  too  bad  in  this  light  to  travel  far,"  Driscoll 
said. 

"Don't  trouble.  Uncle  John'll  keep  ofF  the 
good  people  at  the  holy  well — though  I  wish  I  saw 
them  for  once,"  Alice  said,  with  a  low  laugh. 

"  Though  I  don't  believe  in  them,  I  never  make 
light  of  them,  all  the  same,"  Crawford  said  solemnly, 
in  rebuke. 

"  I  have  to  go  up  as  far  as  my  father's,  in  any 
case,"  Maurice  said,  as  he  walked  on  at  Alice's  side. 


154  WAITING 

They  threaded  their  way  through  little  groups 
of  people  and  followed  in  the  wake  of  a  small  pro- 
cession up  the  village  street.  Mrs.  Hinnissey's 
loud  laugh  rose  high  above  disjointed  scraps  of  talk, 
but  even  she  was  silent  in  passing  Father  Mahon's. 

"  I  feel  more  at  home  here  than  at  Dublin — the 
people  are  all  so  friendly,"  Alice  said,  her  voice 
ringing  out  clearly  against  the  silence. 

"And  why  wouldn't  they  ?  "  Maurice  said. 

He  wanted  to  talk,  but  he  could  find  nothing 
more  to  say.  The  opaque  clouds  had  blown  away, 
and  clusters  of  stars  danced  in  a  dark  blue  sky, 
which  grew  almost  black  as  he  gazed  at  it,  so  bright 
were  the  quivering  fires  with  which  it  was  studded. 
Yet  her  face  showed  only  in  a  faintly  luminous 
outline.  .  .  . 

"  There's  your  gate,"  she  said. 

"  I'll  go  as  far  as  the  boreen — I  want  a  walk." 

She  talked  of  Drumquin  and  the  preparations 
that  were  being  made  there  for  the  Liscannow 
Feis. 

"  I'm  looking  forward  to  it  so  much.  I've  been 
at  the  Oirechtas  in  Dublin,  but  never  at  a  country 
Feis.  You're  going,  of  course  ?" 

"  I'm  on  the  committee,"  he  said  shyly. 

"  I  might  have  known,"  she  said,  looking  at 
him. 

"  We're  in  rather  a  fix  in  Bourneen  school  over  the 
singing,"  he  said  hastily.  "  Joan  Bradley,  the  old 
workmistress,  used  to  take  it,  but  she's  gone  to  live 
in  Liscannow.  Miss  Devoy  doesn't  sing.  I  take 
the  class  now,  but  I'm  no  good.  Father  Malone 
helps,  but  he's  not  much  better.  The  children  are 
entered  at  the  Feis  for  singing,  but  they're  sure  to 
do  badly." 


WAITING  155 

She  clapped  her  hands  and  danced  along  the 
road.  He  looked  at  her  in  astonishment. 

"  What's  the  girl  up  to  ? "  John  Crawford  said 
from  behind. 

<c  I'm  not  mad — or  glad  they're  so  bad — there's  a 
rhyme  for  you  ! — I'll  turn  into  a  poet  next.  I'm 
not  all  eggs  and  poultry.  Let  me  train  them  ?  I 
know  all  the  set  pieces  by  heart  already.  I  was 
helping  with  the  singing  at  Drumquin." 

Dark  as  it  was,  he  could  see  her  eyes  glow  with 
excitement. 

"  You  sing  then  ?  " 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  became  sedate 
at  once.  Of  course  she  sang,  he  answered  himself: 
with  her  voice  !  It  was  ridiculous  of  him  to  ask. 
He  was  framing  words  to  thank  her,  when  she 
laughed,  began  to  hum  between  her  teeth,  and  sang 
in  a  deep  contralto,  "  Silent,  O  Moyle,  be  the  roar 
of  thy  waters."  The  sad  minor  notes  seemed  to 
catch  his  heart. 

"Alice,  if  the  people  hear  you,  and  they're  in 
front  of  you  and  behind  you,  they  won't  believe 
you're  any  good  with  the  hens,"  Mrs.  Crawford 
said  anxiously. 

"  I  sing  often  to  drown  their  cackle,"  she  said, 
stopping  abruptly. 

"  Thank  you,"  Maurice  said  huskily. 

"  It's  not  much  of  a  voice,"  she  said  lightly, 
"  but  it's  good  enough  to  teach  with." 

He  said  nothing,  but  he  felt  the  notes  still 
echoing  in  the  thin  vibrant  air.  .  .  . 

He  found  himself  thanking  her  for  her  offer  to 
teach. 

"  I  enjoy  it.  One  gets  tired  of  poultry  some- 
times." 


156  WAITING 

"  You'll  be  a  regular  Fenian  before  you're 
ended,"  John  Crawford  said,  catching  them  up  at 
turn  of  the  boreen,  "  with  all  your  Feis  and 
nonsense." 

"  On  Saturdays,  then,  and  any  afternoon  just 
after  school  that  I'm  free — half-past  three,  is  it  ? " 
she  called  after  Maurice  as  he  walked  away. 

"  Half-past  three,"  he  echoed. 

This  was  a  stroke  of  luck,  he  thought.  What 
a  useful  person  she  would  be  in  the  parish.  He 
returned  the  greetings  of  a  group  who  threw  a 
"good  night"  out  into  the  unknown.  When  he 
spoke,  one  said  warmly,  "Why,  it's  the  young 
master !  God  bless  you,  and  good  night  again." 
The  road  was  springy  to-night,  he  felt,  as  he  swung 
along  rapidly.  There  was  a  fresh  feel  in  the  air. 
He  inhaled  long  breaths.  What  was  that  inde- 
finable odour  that  cleared  his  brain  and  made  it  so 
keen  to  all  impressions  ?  The  earth  in  a  ploughed 
field  on  his  right  had  the  freshness  of  renewed  youth. 
A  star  blinked  at  him  joyously  from  a  tiny  pool 
on  the  roadside.  He  even  listened  for  some  sound 
of  growth  and  life  in  the  filmy  shoots  that  nodded 
at  him  from  the  hedgerows.  He  recognized  Tom's 
bulky  form  leaning  over,  the  Reardons'  gate,  and  a 
shawled  figure  beyond,  but  he  passed  by  unnoticed. 
He  began  to  hum,  "  Silent,  O  Moyle." 

His  father  was  blowing  out  the  candle  in  a  stable 
lantern  when  he  opened  the  door.  Hanny  was 
wiping  cups  at  the  dresser. 

"I  thought  you'd  never  come,"  his  mother  said, 
in  her  usual  seat  between  the  lamp  and  the  fire, 
patching  Mike's  coat. 

"  I  was  seeing  the  Crawfords  home,"  he  said 
brightly. 


WAITING 


157 


"  I  suppose  they're  that  blind  they  couldn't  see 
the  way  for  themselves." 

"  Whist,  woman,  don't  be  contrary,  and  I  not 
ready  for  him  myself  till  this  minute,"  Mike  said, 
taking  his  seat  on  the  hob.  "  By  rights  Tom  should 
be  seeing  after  the  cattle,  but  he's  not  in  yet." 

"  He's  not,"  Mrs.  Blake  said  crossly.  "  You  be 
off  to  bed,  Hanny.  You  must  be  up  early  in  the 
morning.  You  can  say  your  own  rosary  by  the 
side  of  the  bed,  or,  if  it's  too  cold  there,  between 
the  blankets." 

She  turned  round  and  watched  Hanny  finish  her 
work. 

"That  girl  to-night  doesn't  know  the  value  of 
money,"  Mike  said,  lighting  his  pipe.     "  The  notion 
of  giving  up  good  land  to  the  feeding  of  hens  !    Who 
ever  heard  the  like  ?     And   the  expense  of  them 
little  houseens  she  spoke  of  too  !  " 

"There's  money  in  it,"  Maurice  said  with  a 
smile,  drawing  a  chair  towards  the  fire. 

Mike  pulled  at  his  pipe  for  a  minute.  "  If  there 
is,  I  don't  see  it,"  he  said. 

"  Tom  will—       "  Maurice  was  beginning. 

"Tom,  Tom — I'm  sick  of  Tom  this  blessed 
night,"  Mrs.  Blake  interrupted.  "There,  she's 
gone  now,"  as  Hanny  shut  the  door  of  her  bed- 
room, *'  and  we  can  talk."  She  drew  her  stool 
closer  to  Maurice,  rested  her  hands  on  her  knees, 
and  looked  gloomily  at  the  fire.  "  I  suppose  I'll 
have  to  let  that  girl  of  the  Reardons'  in  on  the  floor 
to  me  at  last,"  she  said  angrily. 

"  But  you  like  her  ? "  Maurice  said  in  sur- 
prise. 

"Tom  was  my  first,"  she  said,  sobbing  and 
wiping  her  eyes  with  her  apron. 


i58  WAITING 

"  Don't,  mother,  don't,"  Maurice  said  anxiously, 
laying  his  hand  on  her  knee. 

She  caught  his  hand  and  pressed  it  to  her  bosom 
and  said,  still  sobbing — 

"  And  a  good  son  he  was  to  me,  too.  Not  that 
I'd  mind  him  marrying — it's  her  coming  in  on  the 
floor  to  me,  and  being  day  and  night  before  my 
eyes,  that  I  can't  abide." 

"  Whist,  woman — whist,"  Mike  said.  "  There's 
more  important  matters  to  attend  to  than  that. 
There's  making  the  match,"  he  added  gravely. 

Mrs.  Blake's  sobs  died  away.  "  That's  what  he 
wanted  to  see  you  about,"  she  said,  releasing 
Maurice's  hand. 

"We  all  know  they've  made  the  match  them- 
selves, long  ago,"  Maurice  said  laughing. 

"  That's  only  fool  talk,"  Mike  said,  striking  his 
pipe  emphatically  against  his  palm,  "  and  there  not 
being  a  word  yet  with  Larry  Reardon  about  what 
fortune  she's  to  get." 

Maurice  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Tom'd  be 
glad  to  take  her  without  a  penny." 

"  Have  a  spark  of  sense  in  you  now,  boy," 
Mike  said  angrily.  "  You're  great  on  keeping  up 
the  customs  of  the  country,"  he  added  sarcastically, 
after  a  pause,  "and  here's  one  that  was  in  the 
parish  since  the  beginning  of  the  world.  I  was 
thinking,"  he  continued  more  graciously,  "  that  my- 
self and  yourself 'd  go  up  some  night  and  strike  the 
bargain  with  Larry.  He's  that  naygurly  and  close- 
fisted,  with  all  his  soft  talk,  that  we'd  have  to  bid 
the  highest  penny  to  start  with,  so  as  to  give  us  a 
liscense  for  climbing  down  a  bit  afterwards." 

Maurice  wriggled  in  his  chair.  He  had  always 
hated  this  custom,  and  to-night  it  seemed  more 


WAITING  159 

appalling  than  ever.     He  smiled  as  he  thought  he 
saw  a  way  out  of  his  difficulty. 

"  There's  Jim  Reardon  and  Hanny — they  care 
for  each  other.  Make  a  double  match  of  it,  and 
there  needn't  be  any  bargaining,"  he  said  trium- 
phantly. 

"The  whole  parish  knows  that  the  Reardons 
won't  let  Jim  take  a  wife  for  a  couple  of  years  or 
more,"  Mrs.  Blake  said. 

"  But  if  they  were  engaged " 

"  As  if  I'd  trust  to  a  thing  like  that,"  Mike  said 
contemptuously.  "  I've  known  a  match  made  on 
the  Friday  before  Shrove  Tuesday,  and  it  was  broke 
off  and  the  man  married  to  another  girl  on  Shrove 
Tuesday  evening.  Who  knows  what'd  happen  in  a 
couple  of  years  ?  A  bird  in  the  hand,  I  always 
heard,  is  worth  as  many  as  you  like  to  name  in  a 
bush.  Sorra  foot  Minnie  enters  that  door  there 
till  I  have  Larry's  money  tight  in  my  breast  pocket." 

"  There's  no  hurry,  anyway,  Lent  isn't  over  yet," 
Maurice  said,  temporizing. 

"  We  must  be  ready  the  first  thing  after  Easter, 
so  it's  time  to  put  a  face  on  it.  We  struck  against 
it  last  Saraft,  but  there's  no  standing  Tom  since 
with  the  black  sulks  that's  on  him.  Will  you  come 
with  me,  or  will  you  not  ? "  Mike  said,  rising  im- 
patiently. 

"  I  shouldn't  be  the  least  use." 

Mike  considered  this,  gazing  thoughtfully  at 
Maurice. 

"  There's  that  way  of  looking  at  it.  Maybe  after 
all  Jack  Hinnissey'd  be  a  better  back  to  me.  He 
knows  Larry  inside  out,  too.  Whist  !  " 

The  latch  rattled  and  Tom  came  in.  "  It's  a 
fine  starry  night,"  he  said. 


160  WAITING 

"  It  is,"  Mike  said,  lighting  a  candle.  "  It's 
every  man  for  himself,  1  believe,  with  the  rosary  to- 
night," he  added,  yawning. 

"There  was  sense  in  what  that  girl  at  the 
Crawfords'  said  at  the  lecture,"  Tom  said,  when 
Mike  had  retired  to  the  room.  "  I'll  be  seeing 
about  that  fowl  run  to-morrow." 

"There,  take  that,"  his  mother  handed  him  a 
candle.  "  It's  all  hours  !  Sleep  sound,  agra — it's 
you're  the  biddable  boy." 

She  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  kissed 
him  on  the  shoulder,  and  then  pushed  him  away 
from  her.  He  looked  at  her  in  astonishment,  blushed 
furiously,  opened  his  mouth,  turned  away  without 
speaking,  and  flicked  the  lighted  candle  with  his 
ringers  as  he  ascended  the  ladder. 

"  And  why  wouldn't  he  marry  ? "  she  said  half 
to  herself,  watching  him  till  he  disappeared  over  the 
stair  head. 

Maurice  had  risen  to  leave.     She  turned  to  him. 

"  I  had  it  agin  him  some  way,"  she  said 
brokenly,  "  to  pick  out  a  girl  for  himself.  There's 
your  father  and  myself  now,  never  set  eyes  on  other 
till  we  met  in  front  of  the  priest  at  the  altar  rails. 
But  the  will  of  God  be  done." 

He  kissed  her,  and  she  clung  to  him  for  a 
moment. 

"  Will  I  soon  be  hearing  of  yourself  ? "  she 
said,  holding  his  hand.  "  Father  James  was  dead 
set  on  it." 

He  frowned  a  little,  and  she  said  eagerly,  "If 
you  don't  care  for  her  now  itself,  it'd  come.  And  it 
would  be  a  fine  marriage  for  you." 

"  There  is  no  use  in  speaking  of  it,  mother,"  he 
said  gently. 


WAITING  161 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  long  time,  tears  brimming 
her  eyes. 

"  I  don't  know  what's  over  me  to-night.  It's 
that  fool  of  a  Tom,  or  something.  I  haven't  it 
in  my  heart  to  push  you  to  what  you  don't  like. 
There  isn't  a  stime  of  common-sense  left  in  me. 
Put  the  hasp  on  the  half-door  and  you  going  out." 

As  he  walked  home  he  felt  young  again.  He 
lingered  by  the  stream,  listening  to  the  gurgling  of 
the  water.  It  sang  some  new  song  to  his  heart. 


M 


CHAPTER   XI 

RAIN  beat  heavily  on  the  school  cottage.  It  swished 
against  the  windows  as  if  invisible  hands  caught  it 
up  in  immense  buckets  and  dashed  it  with  unerring 
aim  at  intervals  of  a  few  seconds.  It  fell  in  thuds 
on  the  sodden  roof ;  sizzled  on  the  smouldering  fire, 
which  belched  smoke  and  peat  ash,  acrid  and  pene- 
trating. The  water-barrels  had  long  since  over- 
flown, and  Master  Driscoll,  in  oil  clothes  and  sou'- 
wester, with  many  sighs,  had  broken  up  his  garden 
path,  and  raked  out  a  passage  for  the  water  to  the 
front  gate,  through  which  it  flowed  in  a  steady 
stream  to  join  other  swirling  waters  in  a  fierce  rush 
for  the  hollow  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  where,  not 
satisfied  with  making  the  road  impassable,  it  made 
small  lakes  of  the  adjoining  fields. 

"  It  might  be  February  instead  of  the  middle  of 
summer,"  Driscoll  said  cheerfully.  A  little  sadly 
he  added,  "  The  poor  flowers  and  the  poor  farmers  ! 
If  it  doesn't  stop  soon  the  country '11  be  in  a  bad 
way." 

Maurice  nodded  in  sympathy.  "  And  the  Feis'll 
be  spoiled,"  he  said. 

"  And  the  Feis,  to  be  sure,"  Driscoll  said,  blow- 
ing the  fire  with  a  bellows.  "  We've  done  all  we 
can  now.  After  the  morning's  work  I've  an  appetite 
for  my  breakfast." 

Maurice  ventured  out  again  by  the  back  door. 


WAITING  163 

A  gust  of  rain  rushed  round  the  corner  of  the  house 
and  struck  him  in  the  face.  He  looked  up  the  wind 
and  down  for  signs  of  change,  sighed,  and  turned 
back.  There  was  no  gleam  in  the  murky  pall. 

"  It  might  clear  at  the  turn  of  the  tide.  There 
won't  be  much  harm  done  by  then,"  Driscoll  said, 
spreading  the  tablecloth. 

"  It  might,"  Maurice  said  hopelessly. 

Breakfast  took  a  long  time  to  prepare.  Toast 
was  given  up  as  impossible.  "  It'll  take  us  all  our 
time  to  boil  the  eggs,"  Driscoll  said.  They  sat 
down  at  last  to  a  gloomy  meal.  Then  suddenly  a 
lull  came. 

"  Hark,"  Driscoll  said,  holding  his  cup  in  mid- 
air. The  rain  against  the  window  had  become  a  tiny 
patter.  The  fire  ceased  to  splutter.  The  room 
lightened  into  a  soft  grey.  "  What  did  I  tell  you  ?  " 
he  said  excitedly. 

The  rain  had  stopped  by  the  time  Maurice 
had  opened  the  front  door.  A  thick  grey  fog,  with 
a  sheen  of  silver  in  it,  drifted  by  towards  the 
east. 

"That's  not  much  better,"  he  said. 

"The  Feis'll  be  all  right.  Wait  a  bit.  Come 
back  and  finish  your  breakfast." 

The  room  grew  brighter  as  they  ate.  When 
they  had  finished,  Driscoll  said — 

"  You  might  be  changing  your  clothes  now. 
Them  things  you  have  on  you  are  drenched." 

The  sun  shone  through  Maurice's  window  as  he 
finished  dressing.  He  hurried  to  the  garden,  where 
Driscoll  stood  smiling  in  his  best  black  coat  and  grey 
trousers,  a  black  bow  tie  straggling  down  his  white 
shirt  front  from  the  wings  of  his  Gladstone  collar. 

"  Look  at  that  now,"  he  said  proudly,  as  if  he 


1 64  WAITING 

had  wrought  the  wonderful  transformation,  waving 
his  arms  around. 

The  wet,  rocky  surface  of  Slieve  Mor  caught  the 
sun  in  broken  sheets  of  silver  flame.  The  sapphire 
sky  was  soft  and  tender  as  the  smile  in  a  child's 
eyes  after  tears.  Away  in  the  east  the  fog,  driven 
by  a  light  wind,  whose  force  seemed  to  have  spent 
itself  in  the  effort,  was  fading  into  the  horizon.  The 
jewelled  hedge  sparkled.  The  drooping  flowers, 
already  lifting  joyous  though  battered  heads  to  the 
sun,  perfumed  the  air. 

"That  trifle  of  rain  only  put  the  heart  into 
them.  A  prop  here  and  there,  and  they'll  be  as  fit 
as  a  fiddle,"  Driscoll  said,  fingering  the  buds  of  a 
carnation. 

Maurice  gave  a  contented  sigh. 

"  After  all  our  work,  it'd  have  been  a  pity  to 
have  a  bad  day  for  the  Liscannow  Feis." 

"  God  is  good  to  us.  Everything  has  had  a 
smile  on  it  for  the  last  couple  of  months.  I  never 
saw  the  people  in  better  fettle  for  the  right  sort  of 
things.  I'd  better  make  up  that  path  before  we 
start.  We  have  an  hour  to  the  good  yet,  and  time 
to  walk  at  our  leisure  after.  Well,  Matsey,  what  do 
you  want  ? " 

"  Good  morning,  masters  both,"  Matsey  said, 
opening  the  gate.  "  It's  a  letter  I  have  from  his 
reverence  for  Maurice  Blake  there." 

He  shambled  up  the  path. 

"  It's  dressed  up  ye  are.  I'm  going  myself  too. 
I  was  telling  Father  James  all  about  the  Feis,  and 
we  driving  home  last  night  from  Liscannow. 
Though,"  with  a  leer,  "  I  didn't  let  on  to  him  I  was 
going  there  myself.  Catch  me  at  that.  He  was  as 
mad  as  a  hatter  at  times,  and  he  was  ladling  questions 


WAITING  165 

out  of  me  like  you'd  be  emptying  the  big  barrel 
beyond  with  a  cuppeen." 

"  'Tis  you  have  the  long  tongue  on  you,  Matsey," 
Driscoll  said  laughing. 

"  Where  is  the  letter  ? "  Maurice  asked. 

"  'Deed,  if  I  didn't  forget  it  in  all  my  talking." 
He  turned  out  several  pockets,  and  finally  found  it  in 
his  greasy  hat. 

While  Maurice  was  opening  the  letter,  Matsey 
said  confidentially  to  Driscoll  in  a  low  voice,  jerking 
his  thumb  in  the  direction  of  Liscannow — 

"  Is  she  sure  to  be  in  it  ?  " 

"Who?" 

"  Sure  you  know.  She  has  the  heart  haunted 
in  me.  Miss  Barton,  I  mean.  She's  a  girl  for  you, 
now,  that  any  man  might  be  took  with." 

Driscoll  laughed  heartily,  but  stopped  suddenly 
when  he  saw  Maurice's  face. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  asked  anxiously. 

Maurice  laughed  harshly.     "Read  that." 

Driscoll  took  the  letter.  "  Run  off  with  you, 
Matsey,  or  you'll  be  late  for  the  Feis,"  he  said, 
opening  his  spectacle  case. 

Matsey  slouched  away  grumbling.  Maurice 
watched  Driscoll  fix  the  spectacles  on  his  nose. 

"  Read  it  out,"  he  said  impatiently.  "  I  want  to 
hear  how  it  sounds." 

"  To    the    principal    teacher,    Bourneen     National 

School,"  Driscoll  read. 

"  As  your  manager,  I  hereby  forbid  you  to  attend 
the  Liscannow  Feis  in  any  capacity  whatever.  If 
any  children  from  my  school  attend,  I  shall  hold  you 
responsible." 

"  Well,  well,  well,"  Driscoll  interjected  frowning. 


1 66  WAITING 

He  lowered  the  hand  which  held  the  letter,  and  was 
about  to  speak. 

"  Finish  it  first,"  Maurice  said. 

"  I  am  informed  from  a  reliable  source  that 
during  my  recent  unavoidable  absences  from  the 
parish,  my  school  at  Bourneen  has  been  used  for 
purposes  not  sanctioned  by  the  Board's  rules,  and  for 
which  I  gave  no  permission.  Let  this  never  occur 
again. 

"  JAMES  MAHON,  P.P., 

"  Manager." 

"  My  school !  "  Maurice  said  bitterly. 

"  Don't  take  it  to  heart,  boy,"  Driscoll  said 
gently,  folding  the  letter  with  deliberation  and 
replacing  it  in  the  envelope.  "  It's  just  the  same  as 
if  it  is  his  school  as  far  as  you're  concerned.  Let 
us  see,  now.  It's  a  mild  letter  enough  for  him. 
That  last  bit  is  about  the  singing  and  dancing  prac- 
tices for  the  Feis  likely.  Miss  Devoy  wouldn't  be 
telling " 

"  She  wouldn't,"  Maurice  said  emphatically. 

"  That's  true  for  you.  She's  a  decent  poor  slob. 
It's  Matsey's  blabbing,  I  doubt.  Not  but  the 
whole  parish  knew  of  it  all  along — and  why 
wouldn't  they  ?  That's  not  the  point  now — it  is 
what's  to  be  done  ?  " 

He  walked  up  and  down  the  path,  read  the 
letter  again,  clasped  his  hands  beneath  his  coat-tails 
and  seemed  to  consider  thoughtfully  the  little  drain 
through  which  the  water  had  now  ceased  to  flow. 
Maurice  gazed  at  Slieve  Mor,  puzzling  over  its 
changed  appearance.  He  had  just  come  to  the 
decision  that  some  of  its  beauty  had  gone  because 


WAITING  167 

the  rain  had  dried  off  the  face  of  the  rocks,  when 
Driscoll  spoke. 

"  Of  course  he  hasn't  that  power  over  you — in 
vacation  time  too.  Still  it  might  be  better " 

"  I'm  going  to  the  Feis,"  Maurice  said,  closing 
his  lips  firmly. 

"  Don't  put  that  jaw  on  you  now,  there's  a 
good  gossoon,"  Driscoll  said,  taking  his  arm 
affectionately.  u  He's  an  obstinate  man,  and  a 
bitter  one,  I  won't  be  denying.  He  made  the 
mistake  early  in  life  of  thinking  he  was  God 
Almighty  Himself — only  'twas  a  queer  sort  of  God 
he  set  before  himself  as  a  model,  without  any  heart 
or  softness  in  Him." 

He  paused  and  looked  at  Slieve  Mor  for  a  few 
minutes,  while  Maurice  methodically  kicked  loose 
stones  off  the  path  into  the  drain. 

"Don't  give  him  the  chance  of  breaking  you, 
Maurice,  agra.  Stay  at  home  here  quietly  with  me, 
and  we'll  have  a  fine  walk  up  to  the  top  of  Slieve 
Mor,  if  my  old  legs  can  carry  me  that  far." 

Maurice  looked  tenderly  at  the  old  man,  whose 
eyes  expressed  the  pathetic  anxiety  of  an  affectionate 
dog.  Deeply  shaken,  he  said,  "  I'd  like  to  please 
you." 

Driscoll's  face  lighted  up  with  hope.  "  God 
bless " 

"  No,"  Maurice  said,  stopping  again.  "  1  can't 
in  this— I'll  go." 

The  old  man's  face  fell. 

"  What  can  he  do  to  me  after  all  ? "  Maurice 
added,  laughing  with  some  bravado.  "  He  can't 
dismiss  me  for  this." 

"  If  one  handle  fails,  he's  sure  to  turn  another — 
and  another,"  Driscoll  said  drearily. 


1 68  WAITING 

"  Bullies  are  always  cowards,"  Maurice  said 
lightly. 

Driscoll  shook  his  head.  "  He's  no  coward 
whatever  else  he  is.  He's  too  deep  a  problem  for 
me,  that  same  man,  but  I  like  to  give  him  his  due. 
No  matter  how  wrong  he  is  he's  always  able  to  per- 
suade himself  that  he's  in  the  right,  and  he'd  make 
his  way  to  the  gates  of  hell  itself  to  carry  out  his 
will,  at  the  cost  of  many  a  fall  to  himself  too." 

"  What  a  man  to  have  power  !  " 

"  That's  the  evil.  But  then  he  has  it,  you  see," 
Driscoll  said  with  a  sigh.  "  There  now,  if  I  wasn't 
forgetting  about  the  drain.  Don't  speak  another 
word  till  we  have  it  done.  Then  I'll  abide  by  what 
you  say,  and  I  won't  push  agin  you  any  more,"  and 
he  looked  at  Maurice  appealingly. 

They  worked  silently,  Driscoll  starting  from  the 
water-barrel.  Maurice  from  the  gate.  He  tried  to 

o 

see  the  matter  with  Driscoll's  eyes.  The  fresh 
fragrance  of  the  garden  distracted  him,  and  the 
soothing  notes  of  a  solitary  blackbird  in  the  hedge. 
There  was  nothing  to  fear.  It  was  Driscoll's  love 
for  him  that  made  the  old  master  afraid.  Besides — 
some  latent  savage  feeling  took  hold  of  him  and  he 
pounded  the  gravel  into  place  with  unnecessary 
force.  He  had  always  resented  the  power  that 
Father  James  exercised  over  him.  He  had  sub- 
mitted and  felt  less  of  a  man  for  it.  ... 

His  spade  touched  Driscoll's.  He  looked  up 
with  a  start  and  read  a  question  in  the  old  man's 
eyes.  He  had  not  even  tried  to  come  to  a  decision, 
but  he  said  firmly — 

"  It  would  be  selling  my  soul  if  I  gave  in — I'll 
go."  Then  he  added  with  a  short  laugh,  "The 
children'll  be  there  in  any  case.  I  can't  call  them 


WAITING  169 

back  now.  I  might  as  well  be  hung  for  a  sheep 
as  a  lamb." 

This  sounded  to  him  as  a  mere  subterfuge. 
He  blushed  and  stammered,  "  That's  only  pretence. 
I  wouldn't  call  them  back  if  they  were  standing  at 
the  gate  there.  And  I'd  go  if  they  all  stopped  at 
home.  You'll  forgive  me  for  not  giving  in  to  you, 
master  ?  " 

Driscoll  did  not  lift  his  eyes  for  some  seconds. 
There  was  a  smile  in  them  when  he  straightened 
himself  and  said — 

"  Our  own  little  light  is  the  only  one  we  have  to 
go  by  in  the  end.  God  send  you  won't  sup  sorrow 
for  doing  what's  right.  Let  us  wash  our  hands  now 
and  be  off." 

Maurice  weakened  in  his  resolution.  He  felt 
as  if  he  could  give  all  he  had  in  the  world  to 
say  "  I'll  stay."  His  lips  formed  the  words  ten 
times  as  he  washed,  but  he  couldn't  utter  them.  He 
lagged  behind  Driscoll  as,  stout  blackthorns  in  hand, 
they  walked  up  the  village  street.  When  they  had 
passed  the  parochial  house  he  hurried  abreast  and 
said — 

"  On  second  thoughts " 

"  Don't  heed  them,  agra.  There  are  times  when 
they're  of  some  use,  and  times  when  they're  no  good 
at  all.  Did  I  ever  tell  you  the  story  of  how  Shawn 
Oge  O'Grady,  the  greatest  of  the  O'Gradys  that 
ever  lived  in  Durrisk,  came  by  the  land  ?  I  didn't. 
Well,  it's  a  proof,  if  there  ever  was  one,  that  a  man  is 
often  the  best  judge  in  his  own  cause — though  he 
doesn't  always  act  on  the  judgment,  more's  the  pity 
— and  is  as  likely  to  see  right  first  as  last." 

The  story  was  never  finished.  It  had  hardly 
begun  when  interruptions  began.  Teigue  Donlon's 


i  yo  WAITING 

two  little  girls,  in  white  dresses  and  blue  sashes, 
blue  ribbons  in  their  straw  hats,  emerged  from  a 
lane  on  their  way  to  the  Feis.  Driscoll  stopped  and 
spoke  to  them.  Were  they  going  all  alone  ?  No  ; 
they  were  getting  a  seat  in  the  Hinnisseys'  cart. 
Their  father  and  mother  had  to  go  early  to  Lis- 
cannow  for  the  market,  but  their  mother'd  strive  to 
meet  them  on  the  bridge  outside  the  town  ;  and  if 
she  didn't,  Jack  Hinnissey'd  see  them  safe.  "  Lord 
bless  my  soul,"  Driscoll  said,  mopping  his  brow  as 
he  walked  on  after  presenting  them  each  with  a 
penny,  "  they  know  their  way  round  now  the 
minute  they  leave  the  cradle."  Carts  trundled  along 
noisily  and  invariably  slackened  pace  as  they  came 
abreast.  "  Won't  ye  have  a  lift,  master  ?  There's 
room  enough  for  the  two  of  ye  and  welcome."  And 
Driscoll  would  wave  his  stick  in  mock  horror.  "  Is 
it  putting  a  slight  on  my  old  legs  you  are,  Jamesey," 
(or  Pat,  or  Jack),  "  thinking  they're  not  able  to 
carry  me  over  a  few  miles  of  road  to  Liscannow." 
Then  a  hearty  laugh  as  the  horse  was  urged  forward, 
and  the  cheery  retort,  "  Faith,  it's  many  a  mile  they'll 
carry  you  yet,  master,  before  they  give  in." 

The  cathedral  clock  was  striking  eleven  as 
they  crossed  the  bridge  into  the  town.  The  heavy 
rain  had  swept  the  roads  clean  and  a  genial  sun  had 
almost  dried  them.  But  the  river,  browned  by  bog 
water,  still  gave  sullen  evidence  of  the  storm. 
Cocks  of  hay,  loose  planks,  a  hen-coop  floating 
rapidly  down  mid-stream,  showed  that  the  low-lying 
inches  higher  up  the  river  were  flooded.  A  boat- 
man freeing  the  narrow  arches  of  the  bridge  from  the 
debris  with  a  long  gaff,  said  "  it  was  only  a  spatter 
of  rain  that  had  no  harm  in  it  except  to  clear  out 
Patsey  Lucey's  bawn.  As  for  the  hen-coop,  it  was 


WAITING  171 

for  certain  the  one  Patsey  discarded  long  ago  and 
was  thinking  of  making  firing  of  only  he  doubted  if 
it  was  fit  for  that  same." 

This  remark  made  Maurice  scan  the  road. 

"  I  wonder  if  she's  come  in  yet,"  he  said,  his  eyes 
wandering  over  the  stragglers  on  the  bridge. 

"  She — she  !  "  Driscoll  said,  walking  on.  "  One'd 
think  there  was  only  one  female  in  the  world.  It's 
the  great  pity  that  the  decorations  all  got  spoiled  by 
the  rain,"  he  added,  pointing  to  an  announcement 
of  the  Feis  that  spanned  the  street.  The  calico  was 
twisted  and  discoloured  and  the  green  lettering  had 
run.  The  rope  had  sagged  in  the  middle.  A  few 
green  flags  hung  limp  and  forlorn  from  the  windows 
of  a  dozen  houses. 

Maurice  hardly  noticed  the  decorations.  He 
looked  at  them  as  if  he  were  taking  in  every  kink 
in  the  crumpled  calico,  but  he  saw  only  a  vague 
blot  against  the  sky-line.  "  She  mightn't  be  the 
only  woman  in  the  world,"  he  thought,  "  but  anyway 
there  wasn't  another  like  her."  He  bumped  against 
a  creel  of  turf  slung  from  the  back  of  an  ass  wagging 
his  tail  gleefully  in  the  centre  of  the  narrow  street  as 
he  munched  hay  from  a  cart  heeled  up  by  the  pave- 
ment. 

"The  streets  are  thronged  enough,  though  it's 
little  thought  the  people  are  giving  to  the  Feis,  I'm 
afraid.  Mind  your  steps  there  with  that  pig," 
Driscoll  said. 

Maurice  made  no  effort  to  pick  his  way  more 
carefully.  He  felt  himself  on  the  brink  of  some 
new  discovery  about  Alice  Barton,  and  he  wanted  to 
think  out  what  it  was. 

An  ash  plant,  waved  by  an  excited  seller  of  calves, 
flashed  in  front  of  his  eyes.  A  basket,  from  which 


1 72  WAITING 

two  cocks  struggled  to  escape,  caught  him  in  the 
ribs.  He  followed  closely  in  the  path  which 
Driscoll  elbowed  through  the  crowd.  He  was 
now  keenly  awake  to  external  impressions,  though 
his  mind  was  vainly  trying  to  bring  into  conscious- 
ness something  elusive,  vaguely  pleasant  and  dis- 
turbing. He  searched  for  it  everywhere  :  in  the 
dark  blue  hooded  cloaks  of  the  women  ;  in  the  back 
of  a  frieze  coat  still  steaming  under  the  hot  sun  with 
the  vapour  of  the  rain  ;  in  the  carts  that  lined  the 
kerbstones  ;  in  the  loud  chaffering  over  bonhams  and 
calves  and  hay  ;  in  the  friendly  salutations  in  Irish 
and  English  that  greeted  him  as  he  met  some 
Bourneen  neighbours. 

"  Ye're  in  for  some  teachers'  meeting,  I  doubt  ?  " 
Mike  Blake  said. 

"  No  ;  the  Feis." 

"  Oh,  that !  "  Mike  said,  his  tone  and  his 
shoulders  uniting  in  the  expression  of  a  fine  shade 
of  contemptuous  indifference.  "  You'll  likely  find 
that  fool  of  a  Tom  and  his  wife  there.  They 
skedaddled  off  an  hour  ago,  and  I  wanting  him  here 
to  help  in  selling  the  hay." 

And  then  Maurice  knew.  He  loved  Alice  as 
Tom  loved  Minnie.  The  blood  raced  through 
his  veins.  The  sun  suddenly  seemed  to  have 
become  hotter.  His  forehead  burned  with  a  prickly 
heat.  They  had  passed  through  the  crowded  Bridge 
Street  and  as  they  walked  abreast  through  an  unfre- 
quented side  street  Driscoll  talked.  Maurice  did 
not  listen.  A  vaguely  heard  voice  sounded  as 
a  distant  harmonic  to  his  own  thought.  Of  course 
he  had  loved  her  all  along.  All  his  life  it  seemed. 
Certainly  at  Tom's  wedding,  he  said  to  himself, 
with  a  frown  at  a  lurid  pile  of  shirting  and  pink 


WAITING  173 

flannelette  on  the  pavement  at  the  corner  of  the 
Main  Street. 

Here  Driscoll  went  ahead.  There  were  fewer 
carts  but  the  front  of  the  pavement  on  both  sides 
was  lined  with  the  stock  of  the  shops  behind  : 
drapery,  boots,  ironmongery.  Itinerant  booths 
extended  far  out  into  the  road.  Family  groups, 
having  sold  in  Bridge  Street,  were  making  leisurely 
inspection  of  wares  preparatory  to  driving  a  hard 
bargain.  Children  gazed  in  rapt  absorption  at  a  stall 
laden  with  pink  sugar-stick  and  gingerbread. 

"  One  would  think  you  never  saw  a  market  in 
Liscannow  before.  You're  not  heeding  a  word  I 
say,"  Driscoll  said  impatiently. 

Maurice  laughed  happily.  He  had  just  decided 
that  he  loved  her  that  first  moment  at  the  Reardons', 
when  all  he  had  seen  of  her  was  a  gleam  of  gold 
in  her  hair  in  the  candle  light. 

"  I  see  a  lot  of  people  wearing  Gaelic  League 
badges,"  he  said,  grasping  at  a  topic  suggested  by  a 
passing  group. 

"  It's  only  selling  and  buying  is  occupying  the 
thoughts  of  most  of  the  people,"  Driscoll  said, 
shaking  his  head  sadly. 

Maurice  vehemently  denied  this.  "  They  have 
the  roots  of  a  great  ideal  in  them,  and  they  have 
warm  hearts."  He  went  on  painting  a  vision  of  the 
golden  age  that  was  surely  coming.  He  saw  all  the 
colour  and  freshness  of  the  morning  in  the  dull 
glare  of  the  mid-day  sun.  The  dingy  houses,  with 
their  dirty  chocolate  and  yellow-green  washed  fronts, 
were  palaces  of  art  clad  in  the  most  delicate  hues  of 
the  rainbow.  .  .  . 

He  stopped  suddenly  as  they  turned  the  corner 
of  the  lane  leading  to  the  disused  military  barracks 


174  WAITING 

in  which  the  Feis  was  to  be  held.  In  front  of  the 
gate  Alice  Barton  was  bent  slightly  forward,  knotting 
a  blue  bow  in  a  child's  hair.  He  blushed.  The 
end  of  a  sentence  trailed  off  in  a  stammer.  He 
glanced  at  Driscoll,  but  he,  too,  had  seen  Alice  and 
was  hurrying  forward.  At  the  sound  of  his  foot- 
steps she  looked  up  with  a  smile.  She  finished  the 
bow  with  deft  fingers,  wiped  away  the  remains  of 
tears  from  the  child's  smiling  face  and  holding  her 
at  an  arm's  length  said  solemnly — 

"Not  another  tear,  Mary.  There's  Master 
Driscoll  !  and  he's  jealous  that  no  Bourneen  child 
has  as  beautiful  a  bow  as  that.  She's  from  Drum- 
quin,"  she  added,  turning  to  Driscoll.  "  I'm  not 
at  all  sure  that  I  don't  hope  the  Drumquin  girls  will 
get  the  prize  for  singing." 

"  You're  only  a  turncoat,"  Driscoll  said,  shaking 
his  finger. 

"  Will  I  sing  my  piece  for  you,  Miss  Alice  ?  " 
the  child  said  eagerly. 

"  Bourneen  shows  no  such  devotion — you  see 
how  my  heart  is  torn,"  Alice  said  with  a  twinkle. 
She  patted  the  child's  shoulder  and  walked  with  her 
into  the  barrack  yard. 

To  Maurice  she  seemed  some  unapproachable 
divinity.  He  had  stood  by  tongue-tied,  hardly 
daring  to  look  at  her,  and  he  felt  relieved  when  she 
turned  away.  Her  smiles  even  had  a  detached 
expression.  He  was  mad  to  think  that  he  loved  her. 
He  didn't  care  for  her  in  the  least,  he  almost  said 
with  his  lips.  Some  pulse  in  his  forehead  throbbed 
and  seemed  to  beat  a  refrain  against  the  drum  of  his 
ear,  "  That's  a  lie,  that's  a  lie." 

Father  Malone  came  into  the  yard  wheeling  a 
bicycle. 


WAITING  175 

"  This  is  pretty  had,  Maurice,"  he  said,  with  a 
serious  face. 

Maurice  started,  his  face  as  red  as  a  peony. 
Had  the  priest  read  the  loud  whisper,  "  I  love  her, 
I  love  her,"  which  his  heart  was  pulsing  through 
his  body  ?  He  muttered  something  incoherently. 

"  The  big  man  saw  yourself  and  Driscoll  pass 
by.  He's  in  a  dreadful  rage.  There's  no  knowing 
what  he  won't  do.  I  tried  to  calm  him,  but  I  only 
made  him  worse." 

Maurice  laughed.  "  I  thought  it  was  something 
serious,"  he  said,  and  he  laughed  again  boyishly. 

Father  Malone  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 
"  His  only  doubt  when  I  left  him  was  whether  he'd 
dismiss  you  at  once  or  give  you  three  months' 
notice,"  he  said  hesitatingly. 

"  Oh,  he'll  cool  down,"  Maurice  said  in- 
differently. 

Father  Malone  frowned  thoughtfully,  then 
smiled.  "  Maybe  you  know  best  how  to  take 
him  ?  " 

It  was  only  when  Father  Malone  had  passed 
into  the  drill  hall  that  Maurice  realized  what  the 
priest  had  said.  It  worried  him  for  a  moment,  but 
he  soon  put  all  thought  of  Father  Mahon  aside.  A 
group  of  his  school  children  clamoured  for  attention. 
When  the  Feis  began  at  twelve  he  was  busy  as 
steward  and  examiner. 

The  little  hall  was  crowded.  "  There  must  be 
five  or  six  hundred  here,"  Maurice  said  enthusiastic- 
ally, meeting  Driscoll  as  they  moved  about  finding 
seats  for  late  comers. 

"  Aye,  and  as  many  thousands  outside  that  are 
jeering  at  it — but  it's  great  anyway,  we're  making 
headway." 


i76  WAITING 

Green-ribboned  boys  and  blue-ribboned  girls 
filled  most  of  the  seats.  But  all  ages  were  repre- 
sented. A  tottering  old  man  held  an  infant  in  his 
palsied  arms  and  murmured,  "  The  sound  of  the  Irish 
will  loosen  his  tongue."  Young  men  made  room 
for  young  women  in  seats  already  packed  tight. 

Some  time  during  each  competition,  whether  it 
was  dancing,  singing,  story-telling,  fiddling  or  piping, 
Maurice's  eyes  unconsciously  sought  Alice  ;  but  she 
seemed  to  think  of  nothing  but  the  competitor  of  the 
moment.  She  had  no  heart,  he  said,  and  then  he 
remembered  a  dozen  instances  to  the  contrary.  She 
did  not  care  for  him  anyway.  This  he  could  not 
rebut,  and  found  a  pleasant  satisfaction  in  his 
misery. 


CHAPTER   XII 

AT  the  close  of  a  spirited  contest  in  story  telling 
between  an  old  woman  of  seventy  and  a  boy  of  ten, 
the  Feis  began  to  drag.  In  a  quiet  corner,  Mrs. 
Tom  Blake,  carefully  secured  from  crushing  by  her 
husband's  immovable  bulk,  had  gone  peacefully  to 
sleep.  Children  wandered  about  listlessly  with  hair 
and  ribbons  awry,  or  nodded  restlessly  in  the  seats. 
A  few  priests  in  the  front  bench,  visitors  to  Lis- 
cannow  for  the  bathing,  consulted  their  watches 
uneasily  every  few  minutes.  Father  Delahunty, 
who  had  just  confided  to  a  neighbour,  in  a  whisper 
audible  throughout  the  hall,  that  the  affair  was  damn 
dull,  and  that  he  would  not  have  come  next  or  near 
it,  only  he  wanted  to  please  his  curate,  Cassidy, 
who  had  a  bee  in  his  bonnet  over  that  same  Irish, 
openly  yawned.  The  floor  was  strewn  with  skins  of 
oranges,  loose  papers,  and  empty  paper  bags  that  had 
once  held  sweets  or  biscuits.  The  air  was  heavy  and 
stuffy.  The  very  flags  on  the  walls  had  begun  to 
droop.  The  Bourneen  children,  having  won  the  prize 
for  part-singing,  were  sent  home  by  Father  Malone 
under  escort  of  Mrs.  Hinnissey.  A  flat-chested 
spinster,  who  proclaimed  that  she  had  the  best  song  in 
the  whole  world  inside  her,  droned  an  interminable 
hackneyed  folk  song  from  the  back  of  her  throat  in 
the  tone  of  a  wheezy  bag-pipes.  The  judges  tried  to 
stop  her,  but  she  waved  them  aside  imperiously.  A 


1 78  WAITING 

contest  of  fiddlers  awoke  the  audience  again.  Jim 
Mescall  furnished  a  running  sarcastic  commentary 
on  the  efforts  of  his  rivals.  When  awarded  the 
prize,  he  said  a  good  fiddle  was  a  waste  in  a  company 
of  the  kind — he  could  have  beaten  the  lot  of  them 
on  an  old  Day  &  Martin  blacking  box  with  a  couple 
of  strings  of  cat-gut  on  it  that  he  had  by  him  at 
home. 

"  The  best  of  it  is  over,"  Maurice  said  to  Alice. 
"  You  must  be  worn  out.  Won't  you  come  with  the 
master  and  myself  and  have  a  cup  of  tea  in  a  little 
shop  round  the  corner  ?  " 

"  It  was  glorious,"  she  said,  her  eyes  glowing. 
"  Are  you  sure  we  shan't  miss  anything  ? "  She 
looked  around  hesitatingly. 

A  priest  entered  the  hall  hurriedly  and  whispered 
to  Father  Delahunty.  After  a  few  seconds  he 
beckoned  to  Father  Malone,  who  came  down  from 
the  platform.  They  were  soon  joined  by  all  the 
other  priests.  Standing  in  a  group  in  front  of  the 
platform,  they  carried  on  an  animated  whispered 
conversation.  The  whole  audience  watched  them 
curiously.  Father  Malone  went  back  to  the  plat- 
form and  whispered  to  Driscoll. 

"  It's  over  in  any  case,"  Driscoll  said  aloud. 

"The  priests  are  keen  on  it,"  Father  Malone 
said  doubtfully. 

Driscoll  consulted  a  few  members  of  the  com- 
mittee. After  some  shaking  of  heads  the  secretary 
came  to  the  front  of  the  platform  and  announced — 

"  Fortunately  the  Feis  is  nearly  over.  But  at  the 
request  of  the  clergy  the  committee  is  glad  to  finish 
it  at  once  out  of  respect  to  the  Bishop  of  Droomeen, 
the  news  of  whose  death  has  just  come.  I  also 
propose  a  vote  of  condolence  with  our  own  beloved 


WAITING  179 

bishop,  of  whose  close  connection  with  that  ancient 
diocese  we  are  all  aware,  in  his  deep  affliction." 

"  Tra-la,"  Father  Delahunty  said,  winking  at 
the  ceiling. 

"  Was  the  Bishop  of  Droomeen  a  great  friend  of 
the  movement  ?  "  Alice  asked  Maurice. 

«  He  did  his  best  to  kill  it." 

A  slight  frown  puckered  her  brow.  "  And  Dr. 
Hannigan  ? " 

Maurice  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  He  sits 
tight.  Neither  for  nor  against — in  public.  I'm  told 
he  doesn't  like  it.  That  speech  is  what  McBride,  the 
secretary,  calls  policy." 

"  I'd  prefer  straightness." 

"  You  would,"  Maurice  said,  thinking  only  of 
the  glow  in  her  eyes  that  brought  out  the  gold  flecks 
in  the  brown  of  the  irises.  "  McBride  would  say 
that  the  bishops  are  very  powerful,  and  that  we 
ought  to  do  our  best  to  propitiate  them,"  he  added, 
after  a  pause,  with  a  short  laugh. 

"  Open  enemies  are  better  than  doubtful  friends," 
she  said  sententiously.  She  smiled  at  Driscoll,  who 
was  coming  towards  them.  "  Being  a  Protestant,  I 
suppose  I  oughtn't  say  anything,"  she  added,  half  to 
herself. 

"  What  nonsense  !    You '  Maurice  began  ; 

but  Driscoll  interrupted — 

"  Now  we  can  have  tea,  Miss  Barton,  and  we'll 
see  you  home  after.  How  did  you  like  it  ?  " 

"  It  dragged  out  a  bit  at  the  end,  but  it  was  fine." 

As  the  audience  filed  out  of  the  hall,  Maurice 
watched  her  talking  enthusiastically  with  Driscoll. 
"  What  had  her  Protestantism  to  do  with  it  ? "  he 
asked  himself,  with  a  questioning  frown. 

Father   Malone  drew  him  aside.      "  It's  an  ill 


i8o  WAITING 

wind  that  blows  nobody  good,"  he  whispered.  "  That 
old  bishop's  death  saves  you  from  Father  Mahon. 
He  won't  want  any  row  on  his  hands  now  for  a  couple 
of  months  with  a  mitre  in  the  balance.  Though 
God  help  you  afterwards  if  things  go  wrong  with  his 
plans.  I  can't  stay  now,  as  I'm  dining  with  the 
priests.  Come  in  to-night  and  have  a  chat." 

"  Come  along,  Maurice,"  Driscoll  called  out. 

At  tea  in  the  back  room  of  Miss  Doolan's  cake 
shop,  an  old  rhyme,  often  flung  at  the  Protestants 
attending  Bourneen  school  in  his  childhood,  kept 
running  through  his  mind — 

"  Proddy,  Woddy,  green  guts, 

Never  says  a  prayer. 
Catch  him  by  the  hind  leg 

And  fling  him  down  the  stair." 

He  remembered  Driscoll's  anger  on  hearing  it  once 
— one  of  the  few  times  he  had  ever  seen  the  old  man 
angry,  he  thought,  as  he  looked  at  his  smiling,  eager 
face.  He  wondered  if  these  rhymes  were  ever  sung 
now.  Alice  was  engaged  in  a  vigorous  argument 
with  Driscoll.  She  appealed  to  Maurice  laughingly 
to  decide  some  point.  He  smiled  back,  but  his 
thoughts  played  with  her  religion.  She  and  Driscoll 
again  talked  with  animation,  while  Maurice  picked 
the  raisins  out  of  one  of  Miss  Doolan's  Bath 
buns — a  Bath  bun  only  in  name.  She  wasn't  in  the 
least  like  what  he  had  believed  of  Protestants  when 
he  was  a  child,  he  thought,  eating  a  raisin  appreci- 
atively. All  Protestants  were  black,  scowling  people, 
with  a  look  in  their  eyes  of  the  hell  to  which  they 
were  certainly  speeding.  While  she — he  chuckled 
softly.  The  conversation  between  his  companions 
had  become  more  serious.  He  listened. 


WAITING  181 

"  No  matter  what  you  say,  there  is  a  feeling 
against  us,  Mr.  Driscoll,"  Alice,  said. 

"  In  the  North,  maybe,  not  here.  Have  we  any 
feeling  against  Protestants,  Maurice  ?  " 

"No,"  Maurice  said  emphatically. 

"  I  didn't  think  you  or  Mr.  Blake  had.  I'd  love 
to  believe  that  no  one  had — but — but — Father 
Mahon  looks  so  queerly  at  me  when  he  passes  me 
on  the  road.  He  has  never  spoken  to  me  since  I 
came  into  his  parish." 

"  I  wouldn't  make  much  of  that,"  Driscoll  said 
uneasily.  "  It's  often  and  often  he  gave  me  that 
same  look,  and  I  a  Catholic.  There's  Father 
Malone  now,"  he  added,  brightening,  "  he  wouldn't 
say  a  hard  word  against  any  one  in  the  world,  Turk, 
Jew,  or  Atheist,  let  alone  Protestants." 

"  Even  Uncle  John  says  that  he's  a  Christian 
out  of  the  gospels,"  she  said  smiling. 

"  The  people  seem  to  have  no  ill-feeling,"   she 
continued,  pursuing  her  own  train  of  thought.     "  All 
the  same,  there  is  something — I  can't  explain  it- 
some  feeling  that  I  am  different  and  wrong,  and— 
she  hesitated.     Maurice  said — 

"It's  only  the  memory  of  old  prejudices.  I  had 
them  myself  when  I  was  a  boy,"  he  added,  laughing. 
"  They  don't  mean  anything  now." 

"  I  hope  not,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  thought- 
fully. "  I've  said  as  much  myself  to  Uncle  John, 
but  he  only  shakes  his  head  and  says  that  the  priests 
could  arouse  bad  feeling  any  day — perhaps  I  ought 
not  to  have  said  that,  but  you  both  know  him  ? 
He'd  say  the  same  to  you." 

"  John  Crawford  always  sees  the  black  side  of 
things,"  Driscoll  said  with  a  shrug.  "  Will  we  be 
making  a  start  ?  " 


1 82  WAITING 

"  Priests  haven't  as  much  power  nowadays  as 
Protestants  seem  to  think,"  Maurice  said  lightly,  as 
they  rose. 

"  I  don't  know  how  I  got  on  this  subject — with 
Catholics  too,"  Alice  said  apologetically.  "  Before 
we  go  home  you  must  show  me  the  town,  Mr. 
Driscoll.  You've  often  promised,  and  I've  never 
really  seen  it." 

The  late  afternoon  sun  transfigured  the  mean 
streets.  The  motley  coloured  houses  were  warm  in 
tone.  Windows  flamed  in  gold.  A  tinman's  stall 
flashed  silver.  The  long  shadows  against  the 
bronzed  dust  of  the  road  had  a  violet  tinge.  A  row 
of  dirty  pink  houses  on  the  quay  glowed  a  rich 
crimson  on  the  glassy  surface  of  the  basin.  Driscoll 
had  stories  and  legends  of  all  the  sights — the  wall 
which  only  the  eye  of  faith  could  see ;  the  castle, 
beside  which  once  stood  the  principal  gate ;  the 
ruined  Dominican  priory  ;  the  Celtic  cross  in  the 
market  square,  its  carved  figures  almost  obliterated 
by  time,  an  arm  shattered,  so  the  story  ran,  by 
one  of  Cromwell's  cannon  balls ;  and,  near  by, 
the  limpid  well  of  St.  Brigid  in  which  the  varie- 
gated rag-offerings  on  an  overhanging  tree  were 
reflected  vividly. 

"The  sun  is  kind  to  Liscannow,"  Alice  said,  as 
they  passed  through  a  squalid  street  of  thatched 
houses  on  their  way  to  the  bridge,  her  eyes  on  the 
flaming  poppies  and  golden  rag- weed  that  grew 
luxuriantly  on  the  decaying  roofs. 

"  It  has  its  work  cut  out  for  it,"  Driscoll  said 
with  a  sigh.  "  Not  but  things  are  looking  up. 
They've  a  new  cloth  factory  and  the  fishing  is  better 
since  they  built  the  new  quay." 

"  And  these  pigsties  ?  " 


WAITING  183 

"  Well !  you  know  Rome  wasn't  built  in  a  day," 
he  said  whimsically. 

She  laughed.  "  Anyhow,  to-day  began  in  a 
storm  and  it  ends  in  this,"  she  said,  standing  on  the 
bridge  and  pointing  to  the  sunset.  At  the  bar  the 
river  broke  into  silver  foam.  The  peak  of  Slieve 
Mor  was  already  clad  in  purple,  but  the  slate  roofs 
of  Liscannow  gleamed  a  red  gold. 

"  God  send  it's  a  good  omen,"  Driscoll  said 
reverently. 

"  Amen,"  Maurice  said,  watching  the  sunset  in 
Alice's  glowing  face. 

"  I'll  do  anything  in  reason  but  I  won't  go 
home,"  a  voice  said  behind  them. 

They  turned.  A  man,  half  drunk,  seated  in  an 
ass  cart  was  pulling  back  the  reins  with  all  his  strength, 
while  a  weary  looking  woman  tried  vainly  to  urge  the 
ass  forward. 

Alice  gave  a  troubled  look  at  Driscoll. 

"  Even  that  kind  of  thing  is  better  than  it  used 
to  be.  That's  the  first  I've  seen  to-day,"  he  said 
sadly. 

He  spoke  gently  to  the  man,  who  said  in  a 
drunken  whisper — 

"  She  has  a  drop  taken,  the  poor  thing.  It  easy 
goes  to  her  head.  Get  out  of  the  ass's  way, 
woman,"  he  added  loudly  to  his  wife,  "  and  don't 
be  pitting  main  strength  and  ignorance  agin  me,  and 
I  wanting  to  get  home." 

She  let  go  the  winkers,  gave  Driscoll  a  tired, 
grateful  look,  and  hung  on  to  the  tail  of  the  cart  as 
her  husband  whipped  the  ass  across  the  bridge. 

"  It's  as  much  want  of  food  as  the  drink," 
Driscoll  said  meditatively.  "  We're  backward  in 
many  ways,  even  as  regards  our  proper  eating — 


1 84  WAITING 

likely  enough  he  never  ate  a  bite  since  he  left  home 
early  and  got  drenched  on  top  of  it.  All  the  same, 
them  Liscannow  public  houses  are  a  caution." 

"  There's  a  lot  to  be  done  yet,"  Alice  said. 

As  they  turned  the  corner  at  the  far  end  of  the 
bridge,  a  trap  approached  rapidly  along  the  Bourneen 
road. 

"  It's  Father  Mahon,"  Driscoll  said,  as  the  last 
rays  of  the  sun  caught  the  nap  on  the  silk  hat  of  the 
driver.  "  Well,  well,  well,  but  this  is  a  misfortune." 

"  It's  a  wonderful  day,"  the  priest  said  cheer- 
fully, waving  his  whip  as  he  passed. 

Driscoll  stood  and  stared  after  him  with  open 
mouth.  "  Well,  now,  if  he's  not  the  greatest 
wonder  in  it  himself.  In  the  best  of  tempers,  too, 
after  all  that's  passed." 

"  There's  a  dead  bishop  in  front  of  him," 
Maurice  said  bitterly,  with  a  frown. 

"  Now,  Maurice,  the  vexation  of  the  morning  is 
on  you  still — he  might  be  regretting  his  part  in  it. 
He  had  all  the  looks  of  it  anyway,"  Driscoll  said, 
walking  on. 

Alice  looked  at  them  curiously  but  did  not 
speak.  Maurice  shrugged  his  shoulders.  His  eyes 
roamed  over  the  landscape  in  front,  and  the  ever 
changing  colour  of  the  sky.  The  only  signs  of  the 
storm  that  remained  were  the  fresher  green  on  the 
rain-swept  hedgerows  and  a  quickened  scent  from  a 
field  of  clover  in  flower. 

"  You'll  be  with  us  a  good  while  yet,"  Driscoll 
said  to  Alice,  breaking  the  silence  as  they  passed  out 
of  the  dusk  of  Durrisk  wood. 

"  Three  months  at  the  longest." 

They  kept  up  a  brisk  duologue  till  they  reached 
the  stile  where  the  short  cut  to  Crawford's  house 


WAITING  185 

branched  off  from  the  main  road.  Maurice  listened 
intently.  He  heard  every  word — Driscoll's  expres- 
sions of  regret,  his  praise  of  her  work,  a  review  of 
all  the  activities  of  the  parish — but  always,  at  the 
end  of  every  sentence  of  hers,  like  the  harsh  roar  of 
the  ground  swell  on  the  Liscannow  beach  in  a  storm, 
the  phrase  "  three  months  at  the  longest "  battered 
against  his  ears.  One  lobe  of  his  brain  registered 
their  talk  of  the  Gaelic  League,  of  folk-songs  and 
folk-tunes,  of  Jim  Mescall's  music,  of  agricultural 
banks,  of  improved  farming,  of  some  new  heaven 
that  was  opening  over  the  country  :  the  other  was 
recording  obscurely  some  desperate  struggle  of  his 
among  the  breakers,  in  which  he  strove  vainly  to 
grasp  some  vague  object  that  was  ever  eluding  him 
with  each  receding  wave. 

"  Uncle  John  and  Aunt  Ruth  will  miss  me — I 
think,"  she  said,  as  they  stood  in  front  of  the  stile. 

"  We'll  all  miss  you — won't  we,  Maurice  ? " 
Driscoll  said. 

Her  hand  was  stretched  out.  Maurice  took  it 
with  a  grasp  that  made  her  wince.  This  was  what 
he  was  groping  after  all  the  time,  he  thought,  and  he 
crushed  it  relentlessly.  He  had  got  her  at  last  and 
he  would  never  let  her  go.  Her  fingers  felt  so  small 
and  cool.  She  gave  a  little  gasp  and  her  eyes  had 
a  shade  of  apprehension.  He  blushed  and  dropped 
her  hand  suddenly. 

"  You  might  see  her  as  far  as  the  door,"  Driscoll 
said. 

"  Not  another  step,"  she  said,  and  she  laughed 
softly  to  herself  as  she  mounted  the  stile. 

Maurice  gazed  after  her  as  she  tripped  along  the 
path. 

"  Come  along.      It's  getting  late,"  Driscoll  said. 


1 86  WAITING 

"  What's  come  over  your  tongue  at  all,  and  you 
without  a  word  out  of  you  since  we  left  Liscannow  ? 
That'd  be  the  very  girl  for  you  now  to  marry,  only 
it's  the  pity  of  the  world  she's  a  Protestant." 

"What  would  that  matter?"  Maurice  said, 
checking  a  laugh. 

Driscoll  peered  at  him  in  the  fading  twilight. 
Maurice  blushed  hotly  and  laughed  again  nervously. 

"  Surely  to  God  you're  not  thinking  of  it  ?  " 
Driscoll  said  anxiously. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  if  she'd  have  me." 

"  Have  you  lost  your  senses,  man  ? "  Driscoll 
said,  catching  Maurice's  arm  and  shaking  it 
violently. 

"  I  might — or  have  found  them,"  Maurice  said 
doggedly. 

They  both  stopped  and  stood  facing  each  other 
in  the  middle  of  the  road.  A  cart  passed  and 
separated  them. 

"  Bedad,  Master  Driscoll,  from  the  stand  of  you 
I  thought  you  were  going  to  wallop  him,"  the 
driver  said  cheerfully. 

Driscoll  gave  a  curt  "  good  night,"  and  rejoined 
Maurice  as  the  cart  lumbered  on. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  thinking  of  this  ? " 

"  It  feels  like  all  my  life — it  was  back  at  the  stile 
there." 

"  If  that's  all,"  with  a  sigh  that  mingled  relief 
with  anxiety,  "  let  us  be  stepping  on,  and  I  might 
put  some  sense  into  you  before  we  get  to 
Bourneen." 

Maurice  waited  for  Driscoll  to  speak,  but  the  old 
man  walked  on  in  silence,  his  stick  under  his  coat 
tails,  the  forefinger  of  his  left  hand  making  circles  in 
the  air,  a  trick  of  his  when  worried. 


WAITING  187 

"  Well  ?  "  Maurice  said  impatiently. 

"  Can't  you  see  it  yourself  ?  " 

"  I  see  enough,  but  nothing  to  stop  me  if  she'll 
only  face  it  with  me." 

"  God  send  her  the  sense  then.  Thank  God 
women  are  more  clear-sighted  than  men  when  there's 
foolishness  of  the  heart  about." 

His  face  brightened  and  he  struck  his  iron-bound 
stick  with  a  sharp  thud  on  the  road.  "  Maybe, 
she'd  turn  a  Catholic  ? "  he  said.  "  That'd  settle 
everything." 

The  suggestion  gave  Maurice  a  momentary  relief 
from  a  vague  fear  that  was  oppressing  him.  He 
pondered  it  awhile,  then  shook  his  head. 

"  She  wouldn't — nor  would  I  ask  her.  What'd 
you  think  of  her  if  she  asked  me  to  become  a 
Protestant  ? " 

Driscoll's  face  had  grown  despondent  even 
before  Maurice  spoke.  The  gloom  deepened  on  it  as 
he  said  reluctantly — 

"  I  knew  it  before  I  had  the  words  out  of  my 
mouth.  She's  not  the  stamp  of  woman  to  play 
pitch  and  toss  with  her  religion — and  I'd  think 
little  of  her  if  she  was.  But  that  only  makes 
your  duty  all  the  clearer,"  he  added,  after  a  pause. 
"  You  must  never  open  your  lips  to  the  girl  in  the 
matter." 

«  Why  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  For  ten  whys  and  every  one  of  'em 
sinking  you  deeper  into  the  bog.  You  jumped  into 
the  frying-pan  with  the  big  man  this  morning — you 
might  get  out  of  that  and  keep  your  school.  But 
do  you  want  to  turn  a  somersault  right  into  the 
middle  of  the  fire  from  where  there'd  be  no  saving 
you  ? " 


1 88  WAITING 

The  old  man  spoke  excitedly.  His  finger  made 
rapid  revolutions. 

"  How  could  you  ask  her  to  marry  you  without 
a  ha'penny  or  the  way  of  earning  it.  What  would 
ye  live  on  ?  " 

"The  school  isn't  much,  of  course,  for  a  girl 
like  her,  and  she  used  to  a  lot  of  things  I  couldn't 
give  her — but  it's  enough  to  live  on,"  Maurice  said 
doubtfully. 

"  You'd  never  darken  the  door  of  Bourneen 
school  again  if  you  married  a  Protestant  wife.  You'd 
get  the  sack  without  a  day's  notice.  The  whole 
world  knows  Father  James  hates  Protestants  like 
poison  and  mixed  marriages  like  hell  itself,  God 
forgive  me." 

"  I  could  get  another  school,"  Maurice  said 
aggressively. 

"  From  a  priest-manager  !     And  Father  James 

to  give  you  a  character  !      You'd  travel  through  the 

five  provinces  and  wear  the  soles  ofF  your  feet  and 

be  as  far  from  getting  a  school  as  when  you  started. 

Besides — and  this  is  the  one  gleam  of  hope  I  see  in 

the  whole    business — you    can't    get    married   to   a 

Protestant    without     a     dispensation,    and     Father 

Mahon'll  take  good  care  that  you'll  never  get  one." 

"He  got  one  for  Mr.  O'Grady  of  Durrisk." 

Driscoll  let  his  arm  fall  helplessly. 

"  The  state  you're  in  has  made  you  lose  your 

wits    entirely,"  he  said.     "  As  if  the  likes  of  Mr. 

O'Grady  was  any  pattern  for  the  likes  of  us  in  the 

eyes  of  the  clergy.     You   haven't  Durrisk   Manor 

and  more  thousands  a  year  than  there's  days  in  the 

week.     And  Father  James's  principles  couldn't  be 

shook  by  anything  he'd  expect  out  of  you.     Besides, 

even  if  you  could  pay  him  well  itself  for  his  trouble, 


WAITING  189 

he'd  never  suffer  a  schoolmaster  to  have  a  Protestant 
wife." 

"  The  bishop  might  give  the  dispensation  over 
Father  Mahon's  head — he  has  the  name  of  being  a 
just  man,"  Maurice  said,  with  the  despair  of  a 
drowning  man  grasping  at  a  straw. 

"  Why  would  he  go  out  of  his  way  to  help  you 
agin  Father  Mahon  ?  Don't  be  expecting  too  much 
out  of  life,  agra,  nor  out  of  the  clergy  either. 
They 

He  walked  along  in  silence.  Maurice  regarded 
the  last  pearly  light  of  the  sun  with  curious  interest. 
An  opaque  cloud  was  closing  in  on  a  silver  patch  at 
the  zenith,  while  further  east  a  few  faint  grey  clouds 
edged  with  purple  were  fading  into  the  night.  It 
was  like  his  own  life,  he  felt,  on  which  darkness  was 
gathering.  Then,  over  his  left  shoulder,  he  saw  the 
crescent  moon.  "  This  is  luck,"  he  said  under  his 
breath,  with  a  thrill  of  joy.  Unconsciously  he 
repeated  an  old  rhyme  of  his  childhood — 

"  I  see  the  new  moon  ; 
The  new  moon  sees  me  ; 
God  bless  the  new  moon  ; 
God  bless  me," 

turning  a  circle  three  times.  When  he  noticed  what 
he  had  done  he  laughed  at  himself.  But  the  feeling 
of  depression  had  passed  away. 

"  There  may  be  some  truth  in  an  old  pistorogue 
after  all.  I'll  not  believe  but  there's  some  way  out 
of  this  trouble,"  he  said  with  a  new  feeling  of  hope. 

"  By  putting  it  out  of  your  head  for  good  and 
all,"  Driscoll  said  emphatically. 

"  It's  gone  deeper  than  the  head.  I  can't  pitch 
out  of  me  every  drop  of  blood  that's  throbbing  in 


1 90  WAITING 

my  body.  I'm  talking  to  you  now,"  Maurice  said, 
with  a  glad  laugh,  "  but  I  can't  put  into  words  what  I 
feel.  1  see  it  up  there,"  he  added,  gazing  meditatively 
at  the  stars,  now  glimmering  brighter  than  the  thin 
pale  curve  of  moon,  "and  I  feel  it  in  the  scent  of  the 
hedges,  and  I  hear  it  this  very  minute  in  the  lowing 
of  Teigue  Donlon's  cows  up  the  lane  there — aye  in 
the  tapping  of  your  old  stick  against  the  road. 
And  it's  coming  up  out  of  the  earth  to  the  sound  of 
my  own  feet.  Put  it  out  of  my  head,  indeed  ! 
Why,  for  any  power  I  have  over  it,  I  feel  like  I  did 
the  day  I  was  caught  out  in  the  bay  in  a  squall,  and 
I  alone  in  a  little  punt.  But  there  is  no  fear  on 
me,  'only  joy.  My  thoughts  are  like  that  little 
kippeen  of  a  boat,  dashed  about  by  the  big  waves 
within  me,  and  they  singing  sweeter  than  any  tune 
Jim  Mescall  at  his  best  ever  drew  out  of  the  fiddle. 
I  feel " 

"Aye,  I  remember  what  it  feels  like  when  it 
takes  a  man  bad,"  Driscoll  said  with  a  sigh.  "  Here 
we  are  at  the  gate.  Not  another  word  out  of  you 
about  it  to-night,  or  I  might  be  forgetting  my  own 
sense  and  be  bolstering  you  up  in  your  foolishness." 

"  I  think  I'll  walk  east  a  bit.  Somehow,  I  don't 
feel  like  being  cooped  up  in  the  house." 

"  Do  then.     It  might  cool  you." 

The  old  man  walked  up  the  path  with  head  bent. 
He  half  turned  the  key  in  the  lock,  left  it  there, 
and  hastening  back  to  the  gate  called  after  Maurice. 

"  I  don't  draw  back  a  word  of  what  I  said,"  he 
said,  when  Maurice  returned.  "  There  was  sound 
sense  and  reason  in  it.  Give  heed  to  it,  boy,  and 
don't  do  anything  rash."  He  paused  hesitatingly, 
turned  on  his  heel,  walked  away  a  few  steps,  came 
back.  "If  the  world  was  only  ruled  by  the  heart," 


WAITING  191 

he  said,  looking  beyond  Maurice, — "and  it  ought  to 
be  by  rights — there  wouldn't  be  much  trouble  in  it. 
My  mind  is  pulling  me  one  way  and  my  heart 
another  till  I'm  torn  in  two  over  you.  And  if  all 
was  known,  maybe  God  has  more  to  do  with  the 
heart  than  the  head.  After  all,"  he  continued,  in  a 
hesitating  whisper,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  read  his 
words  in  the  distant  stars,  "  it's  little  we  know  of  the 
sap  that  pushes  out  the  leaves  in  the  spring  and 
gives  all  their  glory  to  the  flowers.  The  best  tulip  I 
ever  grew  was  from  a  bulb  I  cast  away  as  useless  on 
the  midden.  With  the  best  of  intentions  the  wisdom 
of  the  oldest  of  us  is  only  foolishness."  His  voice 
trailed  off  in  a  murmur.  He  caught  Maurice's 
sleeve.  "  I'm  only  wandering.  1  came  after  you  to 
say  one  thing  and  I'm  saying  another.  All  I  want 
to  say  to  you  now,  and  it  wasn't  what  came  into  my 
head  as  I  turned  the  key,  is  that  I'd  like  to  give 
you  the  moon  beyond  if  you  had  your  heart  set 
on  it." 

Maurice  watched  him  walk  up  the  path  again, 
open  the  door,  strike  a  match,  and  light  the  lamp 
on  the  sill  of  the  uncurtained  window.  There  was 
a  strained,  sad  look  in  his  face  as  he  stood  for  a 
moment  in  the  glow  of  the  lamp  fumbling  with  the 
cord  of  the  blind.  He  pulled  it  down  slowly. 
Maurice  watched  it  descend  with  a  growing  depres- 
sion. After  a  while  the  lamp  was  moved.  He  saw 
Driscoll's  shadow  on  the  blind  in  profile — his 
shoulders  stooped  and  what  seemed  an  outline  ot 
pain  in  the  whole  figure.  A  hand  stretched  out  and 
made  circles  with  the  forefinger. 

Maurice  clicked  the  latch  of  the  gate,  half 
opened  it,  closed  it  again  and  walked  down  the  hill. 
He  shivered  a  little,  and  put  out  his  hand  as  if  to 


i92  WAITING 

feel  the  air.  The  master  was  worried,  he  thought. 
How  was  it  that  he  was  so  chilled  when  the  air 
felt  warm  ?  He  quickened  his  pace.  He  could  not 
get  away  from  that  look  on  Driscoll's  face.  What 
had  caused  it  ?  Where  was  that  background  of 
feeling  that  swayed  his  thoughts  with  all  its  colour 
and  music  a  few  minutes  ago  ?  Gone.  His 
thoughts  were  clear  enough  now.  And  cold,  thin, 
miserable  thoughts  they  were,  he  laughed  grimly. 
Paining  the  old  man  on  the  head  of  Alice  Barton — 
on  plans  for  marrying  her,  and  she  never  having 
given  him  even  a  look  to  show  that  she  cared  a  pin 
for  him.  Driscoll  was  right.  Supposing  she  cared 
for  him,  and  it  was  a  ridiculous  supposition,  he 
could  not  marry  her.  He  waded  through  the  pool 
in  the  hollow  without  noticing  it ;  though,  for  a  few 
minutes  afterwards,  he  was  fascinated  by  the 
squishing  of  the  water  in  his  boots  as  he  walked. 
He  couldn't  give  up  Bourneen.  His  work  had 
meant  more  to  him  for  the  last  few  months  than 
ever  before — he  had  done  more  too.  And  if  he 
gave  it  up,  would  he  be  any  nearer  to  her  ?  There 
was  nothing  for  it  but  to  put  her  out  of  his  head. 
And  there  was  Driscoll,  worried.  A  thought 
pointed  an  accusing  finger  at  Alice  Barton.  He  put 
this  aside  as  unfair.  She  wasn't  to  blame.  .  .  .  He 
tried  to  think  of  the  bank,  of  new  plans  for  the 
school  for  the  winter.  He  remembered  Father 
Mahon's  letter  of  the  morning.  He  might  have  to 
leave  in  any  case.  He  almost  stepped  into  another 
pool  in  a  hollow.  He  turned  back.  His  thoughts 
wandered,  with  his  eyes,  to  a  pile  of  broken  stones 
on  the  side  of  the  road.  A  stone-breaker  had  a  fine 
free  life  and  could  marry  whom  he  willed :  maybe 
he  couldn't :  Father  Mahon's  long  arm  might 


WAITING  193 

stretch  out,  too,  between  him  and  his  heart's  desire. 
A  row  of  poplars  fronting  a  farmhouse  rustled  in 
an  almost  imperceptible  wind.  Maurice  sniffed  the 
salt  odour  of  the  sea  in  the  warm  air,  and  strained 
his  ears  to  catch  what  he  thought  at  first  was  the 
roar  of  breakers  on  the  distant  beach,  but  which 
proved  to  be  the  rumble  of  an  approaching  cart.  He 
stepped  aside  to  let  it  pass.  A  woman  seated  on  the 
backboard,  laid  across  the  middle  of  the  cart,  a 
vague  outline  of  gracious  curves  against  the  star- 
light, reminded  him  of  Alice  Barton.  Then  he  saw 
her  in  everything,  in  the  shimmering  glory  of  the 
milky  way,  between  the  silver  horns  of  the  vanishing 
moon,  in  every  bush  that  lined  the  white  road  in 
front — a  long  procession  of  beautiful  women,  all 
alike  and  all  different  in  the  infinite  variety  of  her 
changing  face.  Again  his  thoughts  were  mere 
driftwood  floating  aimlessly  on  the  surface  of  an 
unfathomable  deep.  His  fears  were  there,  too,  wide 
eyed,  and  his  difficulties,  but  nothing  mattered, 
only  Alice — not  the  school,  not  the  bank,  not  the 
whole  world  beside. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THIS  time  he  saw  the  water  in  the  hollow.  He 
stood  on  the  brink.  He  was  already  wet,  so  he 
might  as  well  walk  through  it,  he  thought.  He 
remembered  that  he  had  promised  to  call  on  Father 
Malone,  and  crept  cautiously  along  the  top  of  the 
ditch,  worn  into  a  narrow  path  by  many  feet 
during  previous  floods.  He  jumped  on  to  the  dry 
road,  past  the  water,  and  felt  the  legs  of  his  trousers. 
They  were  fairly  dry,  and  would  not  drip  in  the 
priest's  parlour.  As  he  mounted  the  hill  his  relation 
to  Alice  Barton  became  clearer.  It  was  just  as 
inevitable  that  he  should  marry  her,  if  he  could,  as 
that  he  had  to  get  past  the  pool  in  order  to  reach 
home.  He  saw  all  the  difficulties  now  as  clearly  as 
Driscoll  saw  them.  They  were  as  real  as  the  water 
in  the  hollow,  and  not  to  be  overcome  so  easily. 
Still  there  might  be  a  way  out.  He  laughed  at  him- 
self for  taking  it  for  granted  that  she  loved  him  and 
would  marry  him.  His  reason  said,  "  You  are  a  fool, 
she  doesn't  love  you,  she  is  as  far  above  you  as  the 
stars."  But  a  hundred  pent-up  feelings  united  in 
his  heart,  and  surged  through  him  with  a  sound  in 
his  ears  like  the  waterfall  under  the  spur  of  Slieve 
Mor.  There  were  no  articulate  words,  but  some- 
thing stronger  than  words,  stilling  the  voice  of  doubt 
and  protest — an  emotion  that  lifted  him  to  the  stars 
and  made  them  stepping-stones  for  his  feet,  giving 


WAITING  195 

his  soul  the  mastery  of  the  world.  .  .  .  He  leant, 
chilled,  against  the  gate  of  Driscoll's  cottage.  The 
light  still  shone  through  the  holland  blind.  The 
shadow  of  the  master's  head,  his  spectacles  low  down 
on  his  nose,  made  a  quaint  pattern.  The  clock 
struck  the  half-hour.  Maurice  looked  at  his  watch. 
What  had  come  over  him  ?  he  asked  himself  uneasily, 
as  he  tried  to  read  the  time  in  the  dim  light.  Half- 
past  ten.  It  was  not  yet  too  late  to  call  on  the 
priest,  who  was  a  late  goer  to  bed.  He  felt  hungry 
and  cold.  He  had  eaten  nothing  since  breakfast, 
except  the  light  tea  at  Liscannow.  Perhaps  that  was 
why  he  felt  so  queer.  His  damp  stockings  pricked 
his  feet.  It  was  madness  to  think  because  he  loved 
Alice  that  she  loved  him  !  This  thought  sobered 
him.  He  stamped  his  feet  on  the  road,  half  to 
warm  them,  half  to  emphasize  his  own  foolishness, 
as  he  walked  to  the  priest's  house.  All  the  same,  he 
loved  her. 

Maria  opened  the  door. 

"  The  priest  is  expecting  you  this  hour  back," 
she  said  gruffly. 

"  I  went  for  a  long  walk,  and  forgot  the  time." 

She  looked  at  his  boots,  caked  in  dry  mud,  and 
at  the  limp,  wrinkled  trouser  legs.  She  leant  down 
and  passed  her  hand  over  them. 

"  Catching  your  death  you'll  be.  On  the  road  to 
Liscoff  you  were,  and  driving  headlong  through  the 
mud  and  water.  You  have  no  more  sense  than  the 
priest  himself,  and  that's  saying  a  good  deal." 

She  lit  a  candle  on  the  hall  table,  and  opened  the 
door  of  the  priest's  bedroom. 

"In  here  you  go,"  she  said,  leading  the  way, 
"  and  I'll  give  you  some  dry  things." 

He  protested  feebly,  but  followed  her. 


196  WAITING 

"  There  now,"  she  said,  making  a  move  to  leave, 
"  change  into  them.  It's  well  there's  any  left  but 
what's  on  his  back,  and  only  for  me  there  wouldn't. 
I'll  be  gone  to  my  bed  before  you  go,  but  you'll  find 
your  own  things  here,  with  the  clauber  off  them  and 
dried,  by  the  time  ye  give  up  your  foolish  talking. 
It's  peaky  enough  you're  looking,"  she  added, 
lingering  by  the  door.  "  And  why  wouldn't  you  ? 
Two  men  living  beyond  there  without  a  woman  to 
look  after  ye,  only  Bessy  Reilly,  and  she  not  half 
doing  it,  and  fooling  ye  to  your  teeth.  I'll  bring 
you  in  a  hot  drink  to  put  some  life  in  you.  If  what 
Matsey  Boylan  told  me  is  true,  we  ought  all  be  in 
the  best  of  spirits — he  heard  it,  he  said,  from  the 
clerk  of  the  parish  within  at  Liscannow.  I  had  it  on 
the  tip  of  my  tongue  to  ask  Father  Malone  himself 
when  he  came  back,  but  I  remembered  in  time  that 
he  put  me  under  a  vow  not  to  mention  Father 
Mahon  to  him — the  poor,  innocent  young  priest 
thinks  that'll  keep  me  from  giving  the  big  man  his 
due.  And  it  not  a  real  promise  either,  except  in 
Father  Ned's  own  mind,  and  me  only  nodding  my 
head  to  save  words.  But  I'm  keeping  you.  They 
say  there's  a  chance  of  the  big  man  being  made  a 
bishop — and  a  good  riddance  it'd  be,"  she  wound 
up,  slamming  the  door. 

"I'm  glad  Maria  took  you  in  hand,"  Father  Malone 
said,  stopping  Maurice's  apology  as  he  entered  the 
sitting-room.  "  She'll  put  a  bib  on  me  and  feed  me 
next.  Mum  !  "  he  added,  with  the  look  of  a  naughty 
child,  as  she  bounced  into  the  room  with  a  tray  on 
which  were  two  steaming  cups  of  cocoa,  a  loaf  of 
bread,  and  some  butter. 

"  There,  now,  take   that  before  ye  stifle  your- 
selves in  smoke,"  she  said  crossly. 


WAITING  197 

Maurice  ate  slice  after  slice  of  thick  bread  and 
butter. 

"  I've  nearly  finished  the  loaf,"  he  said  ruefully, 
as  he  got  up  from  the  table  and  sat  in  an  armchair  in 
front  of  the  empty  grate. 

"  It  was  a  great  day,"  Father  Malone  said,  hand- 
ing him  a  tobacco  jar. 
"  It  was." 

"  We  owe  a  great  deal  to  Miss  Barton." 
"  We  do." 

They  filled  and  lighted  their  pipes,  and  discussed 
the  Feis  desultorily. 

"  Did  you  pick  up  any  tale  for  your  collection  ? 
There  were  a  couple  that  were  new  to  me." 

Maurice  laughed.  "  I  wasn't  heeding  much 
to-day.  But  the  master  said  he'd  be  on  the 
look-out." 

"  You're  not  growing  cold  on  it  ? "  the  priest 
asked  anxiously. 

"  I  was  having  a  day  off,"  Maurice  said  lamely. 
"  Did  I  tell  you  that  that  new  publisher  in  Dublin 
has  taken  the  book  ?  " 

"That's  the  best  news  I  heard  to-day,"  the 
priest  said  heartily.  "  I  suppose  this  trouble  with 
Father  James  put  it  out  of  your  head  ? " 

"  I  suppose  so — that,  and  one  thing  and  another," 
Maurice  said,  picking  busily  at  his  pipe,  which 
seemed  to  be  drawing  freely. 

"  A  great  thing  about  these  new  movements  is  that 
they're  drawing  Protestants  and  Catholics  together," 
he  added  irrelevantly. 

Father  Malone  watched  a  ring  of  smoke  ascending 
in  a  widening  circle  to  the  ceiling. 

"  It  wasn't  before  it  was  time,"  he  said  thought- 
fully. 


198  WAITING 

"  There  was  a  fair  sprinkling  of  the  clergy  at  the 
Feis  to-day.  That's  a  good  sign." 

"  Most  of  them  were  only  killing  a  day  of  their 
vacation.  They  thought  it  dull  enough." 

"  They  can't  have  much  heart  in  it,  then.  Though 
I  was  talking  to  a  few  young  priests,  and  they  were 
as  keen  as  could  be." 

"  We  start  young  all  right.  The  difficulty  is  to 
keep  it  up.  Sitting  here  alone  at  night  I  often  get 
afraid  of  myself.  I  feel  it  worse  after  getting  back 
from  a  big  dinner  with  the  priests.  They'd  throw 
a  wet  blanket  on  our  Lord  Himself  if  He  opened 
His  lips  among  them.  It's  few  have  His  courage  to 
keep  on  in  the  face  of  laughter  and  sneers.  I  used 
not  to  mind  it  at  first,  but  I  find  it  telling  on  me. 
The  Lord  only  knows  what  I'll  come  to  myself  by 
the  time  I  get  a  parish.  But  I  oughtn't  to  be  speaking 
like  this — and  to  you,  too,  that  has  trouble  enough 
of  your  own." 

"You'll  be  preaching  caution  next,"  Maurice 
said  indignantly. 

The  priest  laughed.  "  I  might  then.  Better 
men  than  me  come  to  that.  Only  to-night  the 
bishop  gave  me  a  lecture  on  wisdom  and  prudence, 
and  Father  James  standing  by  and  nodding  his  head 
like  as  if  he  was  a  bishop  already.  Thank  God,  in 
my  heart  I  knew  it  was  a  counsel  of  timidity  and 
selfishness.  But  the  atmosphere  tells — any  day  I 
might  be  pluming  my  pet  failings  as  virtues." 

"  I  thought  the  Church  was  widening  out  ? " 

"  It  isn't  then.  It's  closing  in.  It's  losing 
ground,  and  it  knows  it,  and  it's  gripping  tight  what's 
left.  There  are  some  priests  even  that  think  it's 
going  about  it  the  wrong  way.  But  they're  muzzled 
and  daren't  open  their  lips.  Tell  me  about  the 


WAITING  199 

societies — it  might  put  some  heart  into  me  again," 
emptying  his  pipe  into  the  grate. 

"  It's  a  bad  sign  that  I  see  these  things  at  all," 
he  continued,  after  a  short  pause.  "A  few  years 
ago  I  didn't  see  them,  and  I  worked  away  without 
giving  any  heed  to  whether  there  was  a  stone  wall 

in  front  of  me  or  not But  what's  the  use 

in  talking  ?  How  did  them  new  boats  do  at  the 
herring  fishing  ? " 

After  awhile  the  conversation  veered  round  to 
the  poultry  society. 

"  That  girl  has  a  head  on  her,"  Father  Malone 
said,  admiringly. 

"  You  don't  mind  her  being  a  Protestant  ? " 
Maurice  asked  blushing. 

"  Why  in  the  world  should  I  ?  " 

"  I'm  thinking  of  asking  her  to  marry  me." 
He  had  not  intended  to  tell  the  priest,  but  the 
words  were  spoken  before  he  was  fully  conscious  of 
them.  He  watched  with  curious  interest  a  startled 
look  grow  on  Father  Malone's  face. 

"What?" 

The  priest  forgot  his  pipe.  It  fell  from  his 
opened  teeth,  scattering  the  burning  tobacco  on  his 
soutane  and  on  the  rug.  He  got  up  hastily,  shook 
out  his  soutane  and  trod  on  a  spark. 

"  You're  not  mad,  Maurice  ?  "  he  said  with  a 
scared  face,  taking  off  his  glasses  and  rubbing  them 
nervously.  "  It's  imposs " 

"  I've  heard  all  that  from  Driscoll.  Besides,  it's 
not  impossible.  Dispensations  are  given,  why  can't 
I  get  one  ? " 

"  A  schoolmaster  !  the  bad  example  !  " 

Maurice  made  an  impatient  movement. 

"  I    know  there's  a  good  deal  of  nonsense  in 


200  WAITING 

that,"  the  priest  said  hastily,  "but  it's  the  answer 
you'd  get.     If  she'd  only  turn  Catholic 

"  If  I  hear  any  more  of  that  I'll— I'll  break 
something,"  Maurice  said,  starting  up. 

"  Poor  fellow — poor  fellow,"  Father  M alone  said 
gently. 

This  irritated  Maurice.  He  strode  up  and 
down  the  room  angrily.  After  three  or  four  turns 
he  said  shyly,  "  Forgive  me — I " 

"  Nonsense,  man.  Sit  down  and  have  another 
pipe." 

They  filled  their  pipes,  lit  them,  and  sat  staring 
at  the  grate.  Maurice  drew  short  jerky  puffs. 
The  priest  turned  the  smoke  round  and  round  in 
his  mouth  and  exhaled  it  in  a  sort  of  slow  whistle. 

"  I  see  no  way  out  of  it  that  won't  lose  you  to 
the  parish  and  lose  you  your  job  as  well.  Think  it 
over  well  like  a  good  fellow — there's  the  girl  to 
consider." 

"  She's  all  I  will  consider " 

The  sharp  pinge  of  gravel  on  the  window 
interrupted  him.  They  both  looked  towards  it. 

The  handle  of  a  whip,  thrust  through  the  open- 
ing at  the  top,  moved  aside  the  blind. 

"  Let  me  in.  I  didn't  like  to  knock  for  fear  of 
Maria's  tongue,  in  case  I  wakened  her  out  of  her 
beauty  sleep,"  came  in  Father  Delahunty's  voice 
from  outside.  "  I  saw  the  light  as  I  was  passing — I 
won't  stay  a  minute." 

At  the  sitting-room  door  he  stood  for  a  few 
seconds  gazing  at  Maurice. 

"  Oh,  the  schoolmaster  !  "  he  said.  "  Nice  work, 
the  curate  and  the  schoolmaster  conspiring,  I  sup- 
pose, against  the  P.P.  How  are  you,  Mr.  Blake  ? 
What's  your  time,  Father  Ned  ?  Ten  to  twelve — 


WAITING  201 

that  gives  lashings  of  time.  No  cocoa  for  me, 
thank  you.  That's  one  pull  ye  schoolmasters  have 
over  us,  Mr.  Blake.  Ye  can  break  your  fast  after 
twelve  with  comfort.  God  help  me,  I've  mass  before 
me  in  the  morning.  That'll  do,  Father  Ned — only 
a  thimbleful,  and  a  drop  of  soda  if  you  have  it 
handy.  The  horse  is  all  right ;  I  tied  him  to  the 
gate." 

He  sat  on  the  edge  of  a  chair  in  his  heavy  over- 
coat and  sipped  his  small  helping  of  whiskey. 

"  Father  James  is  off  to  Droomeen  to  bury  the 
bishop — the  sorrow  oozing  out  of  him  for  the  poor 
man  that  he  never  laid  eyes  on,  I'm  told.  He's 
attending  on  the  lord.  Well,  well,  it's  a  queer 
world.  There,  that's  done,  and  three  minutes  to 
spare,"  putting  down  his  glass  on  the  table.  "  The 
lads  have  already  appointed  our  man  to  Droomeen," 
he  continued,  his  eyes  gleaming  humorously,  "and 
the  old  man  hardly  stiff  yet.  As  for  this  diocese, 
they've  elected  half  a  dozen  bishops  to  it  since 
dinner  time.  There  are  several  running  neck  and 
neck.  It  ought  to  make  a  pretty  course." 

"  Who  is  your  man  ? "  Father  Malone  said, 
laughing. 

"Do  you  hear  him  now,  Mr.  Blake?"  Father 
Delahunty  said,  with  a  shrewd  smile.  "Wanting 
to  spoil  many  a  good  dinner  on  me.  Sorra  day 
between  this  and  the  election — if  it  ever  comes  off — 
that  I  need  dine  at  home  if  I  keep  my  mouth  shut. 
All  parties'll  be  making  up  to  me.  Wild  horses 
wouldn't  drag  my  man  out  of  me  till  I  plump  him 
in  the  ballot-box." 

"  I  hope  we'll  get  a  good  man  anyway,"  Father 
Malone  said. 

"  Amen    to    that,"    Delahunty    said    seriously. 


202  WAITING 

"  Though  he  has  as  many  wins  to  make  as  a  hound 
in  a  big  sweepstake,"  he  added  grimly.  "  Here  I 
am,  talking  away  and  scandalizing  a  layman,  and  I 
ought  to  be  at  home  in  my  bed.  And  the  horse 
licking  the  paint  off  your  gate  too.  Good  night, 
Father  Ned.  Good  night,  young  man.  If  ever 
Father  Mahon  is  holding  the  leash  too  tight  on  you 
and  one  of  my  schools  is  vacant,  you'll  have  the  first 
refusal  of  it — if  Cassidy'll  let  me,  and  he's  sure  to 
as  you're  as  mad  on  the  Irish  as  he  is  himself,  poor 
gom." 

"  That  might  be  a  way  out  ? "  Maurice  said 
hopefully,  when  Father  Delahunty  had  gone. 

"  The  bishop  wouldn't  let  him.  He's  a  good 
fellow,  but  his  hands  are  tied.  I  couldn't  do  it 
myself  if  I  had  a  school  to  give." 

"  Poor  schoolmasters  !  "  Maurice  said  dryly. 

The  priest  bent  his  head  in  silence. 

Maurice  said  "  Good  night "  gruffly,  but  turned 
back  at  the  door  and  added  :  "  I'm  only  a  selfish 
beast  worrying  you  like  this." 

He  changed  quickly  into  his  dried  clothes. 
Father  Malone  saw  him  out  but  he  could  not  trust 
himself  to  speak.  He  pressed  the  priest's  hand  and 
tried  to  look  less  angry  than  he  felt.  When  he  got 
home,  Driscoll  was  still  up,  seated  in  his  armchair, 
his  hands  resting  on  his  knees,  a  book  turned  back 
upwards  on  the  table  beside  him.  The  kettle  was 
singing  on  the  hob.  The  table  was  laid  for  tea. 

"  I  thought  you'd  never  come,"  the  old  man 
said  listlessly. 

"  I  was  with  Father  Malone  ;  I've  had  food." 

"  Did  you  tell  him  ? " 

"  I  did." 

"  Well  ? " 


WAITING  203 

"  A  man  that'd  be  beggared  can't  well  ask  a  girl 
to  marry  him  on  the  strength  of  it." 

Driscoll  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  It's  cold  com- 
fort, but  it  warms  my  heart  to  know  you'll  give  up 
the  idea,"  he  said,  but  without  enthusiasm. 

"  It's  a  hellish  system  that'd  crush  the  life  out 
of  a  man,"  Maurice  said  bitterly. 

"  A  good  curse  often  relieves  a  man.  I  never 
tried  it  myself,  but  I've  seen  it  work  wonders." 

Maurice  laughed  harshly.  He  looked  at  the 
old  man,  whose  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  ground. 
He  seemed  to  have  aged  years  in  a  few  hours.  The 
warm  colour  of  his  skin  had  gone,  and  his  face  was 
pallid  and  damp.  Thick  blue  veins  on  the  side  of 
his  forehead  stood  out  against  the  light.  His  fingers 
and  the  corners  of  his  lips  twitched. 

"  I'm  only  thinking  of  myself  all  the  time," 
Maurice  said  impulsively,  laying  a  hand  on  one  of 
Driscoll's. 

Like  a  child  playing  "  hot-hands  "  Driscoll  lifted 
his  hand  and  let  it  drop  on  Maurice's.  A  smile, 
beginning  on  his  lips,  slowly  lighted  up  his  face. 

"  It's  a  common  enough  symptom  of  your 
disease,"  he  said. 

"  No  matter  what  happens,  I'll— 

"  You'll  go  to  bed  now,  in  the  name  of  God.  I 
know  it  might  be  hard,  but  try  and  keep  in  the 
one  mind  for  a  few  hours  at  any  rate." 


CHAPTER    XIV 

MAURICE  went  to  bed  but  not  to  sleep.  He  had 
a  half-waking  nightmare  in  which  malign  hands 
stretched  him  on  a  gridiron  on  the  peak  of  Slieve 
Mor.  The  flames  that  surrounded  him,  instead  of 
being  hot,  were  icy.  He  started  up  and  found  that 
he  had  kicked  off  the  bedclothes.  The  night  was 
warm,  but  a  cold  sweat  made  him  shiver.  He  saw 
Alice  Barton  seated  on  a  snow-clad  mountain,  from 
which  he  was  separated  by  a  foaming  bridge- 
less  torrent.  This  picture  began  in  some  sort  of 
dream,  but  persisted  when  he  was  fully  awake. 
There  was  no  question  now,  he  thought,  of  his 
love  or  hers.  If  all  Driscoll  and  Father  Malone 
said  was  true,  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  ask 
her  to  marry  him.  It  was  ridiculous  that  bread 
and  butter  and  a  roof  should  be  factors  in  love 
and  marriage,  but  it  seemed  they  were.  The  more 
he  thought  of  her  the  more  important  they  loomed 
in  his  imagination.  He  should  be  worse  off  than 
the  poorest  of  the  shore  fishermen.  He  couldn't 
drag  her  down  to  this  grinding  poverty.  .  .  . 

He  plunged  into  a  discussion  on  school-work 
with  Driscoll  when  they  met  at  breakfast.  He 
talked  against  time  to  keep  the  old  man  off  the 
subject  that  was  hammering  insistently  for  expression 
at  the  back  of  his  own  mind.  Long  before  Driscoll 
had  finished  Maurice  was  out  at  the  garden  gate, 


WAITING  205 

his  head  bare  to  a  brilliant  summer  sun.  But  all 
the  vivid  colouring  of  the  landscape  seemed  only  a 
succession  of  shades  of  drab.  He  was  just  thinking 
how  dreary  and  miserable  everything  looked  when 
the  postman  said — 

"  It's  a  wonderful  day  that's  in  it,  glory  be  to 
God." 

Maurice  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  wry  smile, 
expressive  of  his  thought,  "  Have  it  so  if  you  are  so 
blind,"  as  he  was  handed  two  letters,  one  for  Driscoll, 
one  for  himself.  Driscoll's  was  about  the  registra- 
tion of  the  new  poultry  society  he  saw  from  the 
cover.  He  hurried  in  with  it,  as  the  old  man  had 
been  worrying  about  it. 

"  It's  all  right  now,"  Driscoll  said,  as  he  read. 

"  She "  he  stopped  short.     "  It's  all  right — all 

right.     What's  that  you  have  there  ?  " 

Maurice  opened  his  letter  carelessly.  He  stared 
at  long  printed  slips. 

"  It's  the  book,"  he  said  in  an  awe-stricken  tone. 
"  The  proofs  of  it  at  least." 

For  an  hour  they  passed  them  from  hand  to 
hand,  Driscoll  fingering  them  tenderly,  as  if  they 
were  almost  too  precious  to  touch. 

"  And  to  think  you  did  that,"  he  said. 
"  It  is  as  much  yours  as  mine — more,"  Maurice 
said,   and    he,    too,    felt    strangely   moved    by    the 
tawdry,  ill-printed  sheets. 

"  It's  you  put  the  English  on  the  tales,  and  it 
fits  the  Irish  like  a  glove.  Not  but  I'm  glad  I  had 
a  hand  in  it — though  I  was  only  an  old  gramophone 
at  the  best." 

Maurice  worked  at  the  proofs  till  Bessy  Reilly 
called  him  to  dinner.  All  through  the  meal  Driscoll 
spoke  of  them. 


206  WAITING 

"  It's  a  great  day  for  Bourneen,"  he  said. 

Maurice  felt  that  the  proofs  were  a  blessed  relief 
for  the  vacation.  He  had  worked  without  thinking 
of  Alice,  except  for  a  few  bitter  moments.  There 
would  be  more  proofs  to-morrow,  and  Driscoll 
would  talk  of  them.  .  .  . 

"  I  must  go  down  to  the  shore  about  the  new 
boat  for  which  they  want  to  borrow,"  he  said. 

"Do  then,  and  I'll  have  another  look  at  them," 
Driscoll  said,  his  eyes  seeking  the  bundle  on  the 
desk.  "  A  mistake  or  other  may  have  missed  your 
notice." 

Somehow  the  sun  had  again  begun  to  shine  and 
have  warmth,  and  there  was  a  freshness  in  the  breeze, 
as  Maurice  took  the  shore  road.  He  thought  of 
Alice  calmly  now.  He  probably  could  never  marry 
her,  but  he  could  always  love  her.  He  would 
always  love  her.  Filmy  clouds  of  wonderful  shades 
of  soft  white  were  close-packed  against  the  blue  on 
the  horizon.  There  was  music  in  the  harsh  call  of 
a  solitary  curlew  circling  over  a  pool  in  the  bottom, 
and  in  the  crackling  of  gorse  pods  in  the  hedges. 
Probably — more  likely,  certainly,  she  never  gave 
him  a  thought.  The  suffering  would  be  his  only. 
And  it  was  not  all  suffering.  He  stood  and  watched 
a  lark  rise  as  if  from  the  heart  of  a  poppy  in 
the  cornfield  beyond  the  low  hedge.  It  never  sang 
at  this  hour  in  this  month  ?  But  it  did.  And  the 
gorgeous  flame  of  sound,  piercing  the  sky,  touched 
his  heart  to  fire.  Sacrifice  was  the  highest  love,  he 
thought,  with  a  sigh,  and  the  low  murmur  of  the 
waves  soothed  the  ache  he  felt. 

He  met  the  fishermen  by  the  unprotected  slip— 
the  only  harbour  for  their  boats.  His  business  was 
soon  done,  but  he  lingered,  watching  the  nets,  a 


WAITING  207 

golden  brown  against  the  shingle.     The  men  talked 
as  they  worked,  preparing  for  the  night  fishing. 

"  It's  that  same  bank  has  been  the  blessing,"  one 
said.  "  If  we  only  had  a  decent  boat-slip  now,  the 
Strand'd  make  Liscannow  itself  sit  up." 

There  was  no  lack  of  work  to  make  a  man 
happy,  Maurice  thought,  as  he  listened.  All  that 
had  been  done  up  to  this  was  nothing  to  what  was 
still  to  do.  Work  was  the  great  thing.  Seated  on 
the  warm  coping,  he  dangled  his  legs  over  the  side 
of  the  slip,  the  cool,  green  water  lapping  the  soles  of 
his  shoes.  The  gold  of  the  tarred  jumper  of  one  of 
the  fishermen  seemed  to  colour  his  thick,  yellow 
beard  and  the  bronze  of  his  cheek. 

"  Next  winter  ye  might  be  making  a  bid  for  the 
slip,"  another  man  said,  in  a  detached  voice  as  if 
addressing  the  sea. 

"  We  might,"  Maurice  said. 

That  would  be  more  work,  he  thought,  and  he 
watched  the  sun  dance  on  the  bottom  of  an  old  up- 
turned boat.  The  tar  glistened  in  the  light,  and 
shone  like  beautiful,  old  watered  silk  with  depths 
and  depths  of  colour.  He  said  aloud— 

"This  will  never  do,  idling  here,"  and  he 
jumped  up. 

"  It's  not  often  you  have  an  idle  minute. 
You're  near  as  busy  as  ourselves,"  an  old  man  said, 
pausing  in  his  labour  of  throwing  pebbles  into  the 
smooth  water,  but  without  lifting  his  eyes  from  the 
circles  they  made. 

"  If  it's  only  as  much  as  you  he  and  his  like 
did,  you  wouldn't  have  a  roof  over  your  head, 
Shaun  Mick,"  another  said. 

u  Amn't  I  working  hard  ?  " 

"The  master  does  more  than  throw  pebbles." 


208  WAITING 

"  God  be  with  you  then,  master,"  the  old  man 
said.  "  'Tis  you  have  your  work  cut  out  for  you. 
Though  it's  all  only  pebble-flinging  in  the  end." 

Work,  work,  work,  sounded  in  Maurice's  ears 
as  he  walked.  Work — even  on  the  surface  of 
things — was  the  secret  of  life.  He  took  the  long 
way  home,  round  by  the  Strand  chapel. 

"  You  wouldn't  recognize  a  person,  I  suppose  ?  " 
Miss  Devoy  said,  running  out  of  the  chapel  gate- 
way. "  I  saw  you  at  the  Feis  yesterday,  but  you 
hadn't  an  eye  for  me." 

"  I  was  busy,"  he  said  awkwardly. 

"  A  blind  man'd  see  what  you  were  most  busy 
about." 

He  looked  at  her  nervously,  and  she  winked 
elaborately. 

"  Come  up  to  the  house,  and  I'll  give  you  a  cup 
of  tea.  Feis,  indeed  !  This  two  months  and 
more  I  saw  what  was  wrong  with  you.  It  was  a 
relief  to  me,  too,  though  I  didn't  let  on.  You  see,  I 
was  told  different." 

He  stammered  something  about  having  to  get 
home,  afraid  of  what  she  might  say  next. 

"  I'll  walk  up  a  bit  of  the  road  with  you,  then. 
There's  something  I  want  a  word  with  you  about." 

She  was  very  hot  but  self-possessed,  and  mopped 
her  streaming  forehead  with  a  large  handkerchief. 

"  Your  own  mother  as  much  as  said  one  thing 
or  another  to  me,  and  Father  James  gave  me  a  plain 
hint  of  it.  I  didn't  say  anything  agin  it,  and  maybe 
gave  it  a  helping  hand,  so  to  speak.  You  were 
always  nice  and  friendly,  but  I  saw  no  signs. 
What's  more,  I  might  tell  you,  if  you'll  believe  me, 
I  always  kept  on  with  Patsey  Brophy  of  Liscannow, 
and  glad  I  am  now  that  I  did." 


WAITING  209 

"  Brophy,  the  builder,"  he  said,  seeing  light. 
"  I'm  very  glad." 

She  hung  her  head  coquettishly.  "  There's  some 
that  call  him  a  stone-mason,"  she  said  gratefully, 
"  but  you  have  better  manners.  And  he  having 
three  men  of  his  own  under  him  now  !  A  builder, 
even  in  a  small  way — but  he's  blossoming  out  and 
expecting  the  contract  of  the  new  labourers' 
cottages — is  near  as  good  as  a  schoolmaster  ? "  She 
spoke  almost  shyly,  with  an  eager  questioning  into- 
nation in  her  voice. 

"  As  good  ?    Ten  times  better." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  it,"  she  said  with  relief. 
"  Father  James  has  put  the  fear  of  God  into  me,  and 
I  was  afraid  he  might  think  I'd  be  demeaning  him. 
He  has  grand  notions,"  she  added  reflectively. 

"You'll  be  well  out  of  the  teaching  anyway. 
One's  soul  isn't  one's  own  at  it." 

"  Thinking  of  the  bark  of  Father  James's  tongue 
you  are,  I  suppose,"  she  said  doubtfully.  "  Sure  it 
always  seemed  to  hop  off  you  like  water  off  a  duck's 
back.  It's  different  with  a  relation.  If  I  go  agin 
him,  he  might  put  bad  luck  on  my  marriage — you 
know  the  kind  of  cross  a  priest  can  put  on  a  woman. 
Jessy  Burke,  that  married  against  his  will,  hasn't  a 
child  to  her  bosom  to  this  day.  Besides,  I  don't 
want  him  to  drive  me  out  of  the  school.  I  want  to 
hang  on  to  it  for  a  start,  at  any  rate.  It'd  be  a  good 
luck  penny  in  the  house  and  Patsey  not  firm  on  his 
feet  yet." 

The  skin  under  her  eyelids  went  pale,  and  her 
eyes  had  a  strained  look.  Maurice  did  his  best  to 
cheer  her.  She  began  to  sob. 

"  It  isn't  as  if  I  had  the  whole  world  running 
after  me.  If  I  miss  the  chance  of  Patsey,  I  might 

p 


2io  WAITING 

he  stranded  on  the  Skellig  rocks  for  life  and  go 
single  to  my  grave,"  she  said  with  a  pitiful  attempt 
at  a  smile. 

"  I  don't  think  Father  Mahon  will  interfere," 
Maurice  said,  trying  to  put  some  conviction  into  his 
voice. 

"  He's  always  boasting  of  the  good  he's  doing 
for  his  relations.  But  sure,  I'd  rather  have  another 
man  doing  me  an  injury  than  him  doing  me  good," 
she  said  ruefully.  "  Patsey  is  going  to  hang  out  a 
new  sign  with  <  Builder  and  Contractor '  on  it,  and 

O  •* 

maybe  that  might  work  miracles,"  she  added  hope- 
fully after  a  few  seconds'  thought.  "  Anyway  it's 
been  a  great  comfort  to  me  to  talk  to  you.  If  you 
won't  come  into  the  house  I  must  be  going.  My 
mother '11  be  crying  out  for  her  tea,  and  no  one 
about  to  get  it  for  her,  and  she  tied  to  her  chair  with 
the  rheumatics."  She  shook  his  hand  warmly. 

When  they  had  both  gone  a  few  paces  she 
turned  back,  ran  after  him  and  thrust  a  small  gilt 
medal  into  his  hand. 

"  No  matter  what  people  might  say,  you've 
always  been  the  best  of  friends  to  me.  There — take 
that.  It's  a  blessed  medal  of  St.  Benedict.  You'll 
see  if  it  don't  give  you  a  helping  hand.  It  was 
given  to  me  by  my  cousin  that's  a  nun  inside  in 
Liscannow  convent.  Blessed  by  the  hands  of  the 
Pope  himself!  And  she  swore  'twas  infallible  in 
matters  of  the  kind.  And  didn't  I  prove  the  truth 
of  her  words  by  sewing  it  out  of  sight  in  a  tie  I 
once  gave  Patsey  for  a  Christmas  box  ?  Give  her  a 
little  present  that  she'll  be  always  wearing  and  sew 
the  medal  up  in  it — before  many  days  she'll  be 
running  to  be  baptized  and  coming  to  mass,  and  the 
way'll  be  paved  straight  for  the  both  of  ye." 


WAITING  2ii 

Her  words  tumbled  out  in  a  rush  and  she  had 
gone  before  he  realized  what  she  meant.  He  gazed 
foolishly  at  the  medal  in  his  palm.  He  went  hot 
and  cold.  For  a  moment  Miss  Devoy's  evident  faith 
influenced  him.  What  if  there  was  something  in 
it  ?  He  walked  on  fingering  the  medal  curiously. 
Then  he  laughed  bitterly.  He  lifted  his  arm  to 
throw  the  medal  away,  but  all  the  instinct  of  his 
faith  made  him  stay  his  hand.  He  dropped  it  care- 
fully into  his  waistcoat  pocket.  He  felt  angry,  and 
sought  round  in  his  mind  for  a  cause.  Not  with  the 
superstition.  That  was  even  interesting.  There 
might  be  a  good  deal  of  folk-lore  behind  it — he  must 
ask  Driscoll.  He  knocked  the  head  off  a  dandelion 
with  his  stick.  Was  he  angry  with  Miss  Devoy  for 
guessing  his  secret  ?  But  he  was  to  blame,  not  she. 
He  was  going  round  like  a  fool  wearing  his  heart 
on  his  sleeve.  .  .  . 

By  the  time  he  arrived  at  home  he  had  made 
several  resolutions — to  avoid  meeting  Alice  Barton, 
not  to  speak  of  her,  not  to  think  of  her.  "  If  I 
can  at  all,"  he  added  doubtfully  after  the  last. 


CHAPTER   XV 

IN  the  weeks  that  followed  Maurice  struggled  to 
keep  his  resolutions.  He  could  not  help  thinking 
of  Alice.  He  put  the  thought  of  her  away,  but  it 
came  back  again.  She  smiled  at  him  from  his 
proofs,  in  his  dreams,  and  in  those  first  waking 
moments  when  he  seemed  to  have  no  will.  The 
more  he  avoided  her,  the  more  he  seemed  to  think 
of  her.  For  whole  weeks  he  did  not  see  her  at  all. 
When  they  met,  of  necessity,  at  some  committee 
meeting,  or  accidentally,  on  the  road,  he  felt  on  fire, 
but  congratulated  himself  on  his  coolness  and  the 
level  tone  of  his  voice.  He  feared  that  she  would  see 
that  he  avoided  her.  But  she  seemed  not  to  notice 
it.  Once  or  twice  he  thought  he  saw  a  questioning 
look  in  her  eyes,  but  it  had  gone  when  he  looked 
again. 

Father  Malone  spoke  of  her  once,  and  Maurice 
said  it  was  "  all  off."  The  priest  said  "  thank  God," 
and  gazed  wonderingly  at  Maurice,  who  walked 
away  abruptly  with  an  angry  frown. 

"  Never  mention  her  name  to  me  again,"  he 
said,  when  Driscoll  spoke  of  her. 

"  If  you'd  only  talk  of  her  you  wouldn't  be 
wearing  your  heart  out  thinking  of  her,"  the  old 
man  said  with  a  sigh  ;  but  Maurice  sat  doggedly 
silent. 

He    worked   as    he    had    never  worked  before. 


WAITING  213 

The  proofs  were  finished.  Towards  the  end  of  the 
vacation  he  helped  Tom,  who  was  county  secretary, 
to  re-organize  the  Gaelic  Athletic  Association.  There 
were  meetings  in  the  Mechanics'  Hall  at  Liscannow, 
and  he  made  his  first  public  speech. 

"  It's  case  equal  to  you  with  the  tongue  or  the 
pen,"  Tom  said,  meaning  high  praise.  There  was 
another  extension  of  the  parish  work.  Now  it  was 
winter-dairying.  Father  Malone  got  hold  of  the 
idea,  but  as  he  was  busy  with  his  clerical  work  owing 
to  Father  Mahon's  frequent  absences,  Maurice  and 
Driscoll  had  to  interview  the  farmers  and  set  the 
scheme  going.  One  morning  six  copies  of  a  little 
paper-covered  book  came  by  post.  He  was  in- 
terested in  a  head-piece  of  Celtic  design  on  the  first 
page,  but  he  could  not  read  a  word.  He  hid  away 
all  the  copies  except  the  one  Driscoll  always  carried 
about  in  his  coat  pocket.  The  publisher,  to  whom 
he  had  sold  the  book  outright  for  ten  pounds, 
hinted  at  a  second  series.  He  tried  to  work  at  it, 
but  his  thoughts  wandered,  and  he  stuck  fast  in  the 
first  tale.  Work  of  his  own  he  found  he  couldn't 
do,  though  his  capacity  for  other  work  seemed  to 
have  no  end. 

School  opened  again,  and  he  added  two  extra 
subjects  to  the  programme.  He  audited  the 
accounts  of  the  Agricultural  Society.  As  he  and 
Driscoll  sat  working  of  nights  at  the  table  in  the 
kitchen,  the  desultory  talk  in  between  was  of 
"  movements,"  the  school,  and  folk-lore.  Alice 
gradually  faded  into  the  impersonal  lady  of  his 
dreams.  He  was  restless  and  fitful,  but  he  did  not 
connect  this  particularly  with  her.  At  a  committee 
meeting  he  heard  almost  with  indifference  that  she 
was  leaving  in  a  month.  Her  work,  all  agreed,  was 


2i4  WAITING 

done — and  done  well,  and  that  seemed  to  be  all  that 
mattered.  He  was  able  to  answer  Miss  Devoy's 
covert  allusions  to  her  with  a  smile. 

Early  in  September  he  got  a  letter  from  the 
editor  of  a  Dublin  newspaper  with  an  offer  for  a 
column  article  every  week — a  short  folk  story  with 
a  translation  and  a  glossary,  for  which  he  was  to  get 
a  pound  a  week.  He  laughed  heartily  when  he 
read  the  letter — Driscoll  said  it  was  the  first  real 
laugh  he  gave  out  of  him  for  a  couple  of  months. 
Any  tales  that  might  hurt  the  susceptibility  of  the 
dominant  political  party,  or  of  the  Church,  were  to 
be  rigidly  excluded  :  he  should  be  particularly  careful 
to  omit  all  medieval  freedom  of  expression  in  regard 
to  religion  :  his  book,  on  the  whole,  was  excellent, 
and  had  led  to  this  offer,  but  some  of  the  tales  erred 
in  these  respects. 

"  It's  a  funny  country,"  Maurice  said. 

"It  is,"  Driscoll  said,  "in  some  ways.  I'd  take 
the  job  though,  if  I  were  you.  With  your  ideas  it's 
as  well  for  a  schoolmaster  to  have  a  second  string  to 
his  bow." 

"  I've  a  lot  to  do.  But  I  have  enough  stories 
by  me  to  last  a  couple  of  years,  so  maybe  I  might 
as  well.  It  passes  the  wit  of  man  though  to 
know  how  they  can  afford  to  pay  such  a  lot  of 
money  for  so  little  work." 

"  It's  wonderful,  glory  be  to  God,"  Driscoll 
said.  "That  puts  me  in  mind — I  came  out  here 
last  night  at  two  o'clock  for  a  drink  of  water,  and 
the  light  was  still  shining  under  your  sitting-room 
door,  and  you  promising  me  to  go  to  bed  at 
twelve." 

"I  was  writing  that  memorial  about  the  boat- 
slip." 


WAITING  215 

"  Slip  or  no  slip,  you'll  have  to  take  care  of  your 
health.  The  day  after  to-morrow  is  the  Liscannow 
races,  and  you  must  go  there  with  me.  It's  a 
holiday  in  the  school,  so  you've  no  excuse.  It'll 
get  your  mind  off  things  even  if  you  don't  care 
for  horses  itself — and  that's  a  great  lack  in  you." 

Maurice  grumbled  that  there  were  a  hundred 
things  to  be  done,  but  ten  o'clock  on  the  morning 
of  the  races  found  him  and  Driscoll  on  foot  for 
Liscannow.  Carts  and  side-cars,  laden  with  people, 
passed  from  Liscoff  and  beyond. 

"  There's  a  car  from  Drimna —  I  know  the  driver 
of  it — thirty  miles  if  it's  an  inch.  The  Lord  only 
knows  when  they  must  have  started.  At  cock- 
crow belike,"  Driscoll  said. 

"  The  country 'd  be  made  if  they  took  the  same 
interest  in  better  things." 

"  It  would.  Still  it's  no  bad  thing  to  care  for 
horses — and  it's  that  they  come  for,  and  not  the 
betting.  It's  different  in  the  towns,  I'm  told." 

"  Have  you  the  right  time  on  you,  master  ?  " 
Teigue  Donlon  shouted  from  the  top  of  a  straw  rick 
in  his  haggard,  a  short  distance  from  the  road. 

"  A  quarter-past  ten." 

"  I  told  you  the  old  clock  was  fast  if  any. 
Stick  to  it,  boys  and  girls.  Sorra  one  need  leave 
this  until  ye  hear  the  stroke  of  eleven,  and  be  in 
plenty  of  time  after,"  he  shouted  to  a  score  of 
workers,  above  the  din  of  the  threshing  machine. 
"  'Twas  a  great  harvest,  thanks  be  to  God,"  he 
continued,  addressing  Driscoll  and  Maurice.  "  We 
kept  at  the  threshing  till  dark  last  night,  but  we 
couldn't  come  within  stacks  of  finishing."  He 
caught  an  armful  of  straw  from  off  a  pike  as  he 
spoke,  fixed  it  deftly  on  the  rick  and  trod  it  down. 


216  WAITING 

"  It  was  very  kindly  of  the  neighbours  to  come  at 
all  to-day,  and  the  day  that's  in  it.  But  here  they 
were  at  the  dawn  ;  though  they're  on  tenterhooks 
now  for  fear  they'd  miss  the  first  race.  Down  with 
the  sheaves,  Larry,"  to  the  man  on  a  disappearing 
stack  of  oats.  "  Feed  her  as  fast  as  she'll  swallow, 
Thade,"  to  the  man  at  the  thresher  ;  "  cram  them 
down  her  throat,  and  there  won't  be  an  ear  left, 
please  God,  at  the  first  stroke  of  the  clock." 

Tom  Blake  wiped  the  sweat  off  his  face  with  the 
sleeve  of  his  flannel  bawneen  as  he  stuck  his  pike 
into  a  bundle  of  straw,  high  as  himself.  The  driver 
of  the  two  pairs  of  horses,  turning  the  machine, 
cracked  his  whip  and  the  horses  put  on  pace. 
Sheaves  flew.  There  was  a  procession  of  straw, 
held  aloft  on  pikes  and  concealing  the  bearers,  from 
the  machine  to  the  rick.  Men  ran  with  heavy  sacks 
of  threshed  oats  to  the  sheeogues.  Hanny  Blake 
handed  cups  of  buttermilk  to  the  thirsty,  who  drank 
as  they  worked. 

"  God  bless  the  work,"  Driscoll  shouted  in  Irish. 
"  Ye'll  do  it  and  to  spare,  if  you  keep  up  that 
spurt." 

As  they  drew  nearer  to  Liscannow,  farmyards 
and  fields  were  deserted.  Oats  called  loudly  for 
reaping,  but  the  reapers,  in  their  Sunday  best, 
wended  their  way  to  the  town.  Young  and  old 
had  an  air  of  being  out  to  enjoy  themselves. 
There  was  no  sign  of  the  business  preoccupation  of 
a  market-day  or  fair.  In  the  carts  to-day  were  no 
pigs  or  calves  or  poultry,  the  selling  price  of  which 
was  a  matter  of  anxious  calculation  ;  only  a  human 
freight  of  men  who  had  left  black  care  behind  on 
their  farms,  gaily  be-ribboned  women,  with  chubby- 
faced  children  hanging  over  the  tail-boards.  A 


WAITING  217 

brilliant  September  sun  gave  a  warm  colour  to  the 
fields  of  stubble  and  ripe  corn,  shone  crimson  and 
gold  on  the  turning  leaves  in  the  hedgerows,  and 
seemed  even  to  gild  the  thin  jests  of  the  holiday 
makers. 

"  Make  way  there  for  Paudeen  Flaherty's 
racer,"  greeted  an  old  man,  in  a  tall  felt  hat  and 
cutaway  coat,  astride  a  spavined  mule.  He  bowed 
left  and  right,  his  long  legs  flapping  against  the 
sack  that  served  as  a  saddle. 

"  Is  it  the  Farmers'  Plate  or  the  Hunt  Cup 
you're  aiming  at,  Paudeen  ?  " 

"  It  might  be  both,"  Paudeen  said  with  a  broad 
grin. 

The  streets  of  Liscannow  were  thronged.  There 
was  a  din  of  "  Correct  card,"  "  Correct  card  and  bill 
of  the  races."  The  shops  were  still  open,  and  did 
a  thriving  trade.  Shopkeepers  and  their  assistants 
were  in  holiday  humour  and  attire.  Not  even  in 
the  butchers'  stalls  was  an  apron  worn.  The 
utmost  concession  to  business  on  this  day  of  days 
was  a  discarded  coat,  hung  up,  however,  within  easy 
reach,  inside  the  counter.  As  midday  passed, 
anxious  eyes  were  cast  at  clocks.  When  the  half 
after  twelve  boomed  from  the  cathedral  tower, 
customers  were  unceremoniously  bundled  out  of 
the  shops,  shutters  were  hastily  put  up  and  doors 
were  locked.  At  a  quarter  to  one  Liscannow  was 
like  a  town  of  the  dead.  A  long  mile  separated  the 
town  from  the  race-course.  The  first  race  was 
timed  for  one  o'clock,  so  there  was  need  to 
hurry.  A  thick  crowd  jostled  and  pressed  up  the 
hill,  past  the  asylum  and  the  jail.  Half  a  dozen 
feeble  old  men,  in  corduroy  trousers  and  the 
[peculiar  coat,  grey  frieze  and  collarless,  that  marked 


218  WAITING 

the  pauper,  hung  about  the  workhouse  gate,  with 
anxious  eyes  on  the  race-course  in  the  hollow. 
One  tried  to  straighten  his  bent  back,  clutched  his 
stick  firmly,  and  stepped  forward.  Another  pulled 
him  back. 

"  Don't  venture  it,  Dan.  We'd  be  crushed  to 
death  in  that  crowd.  Wait  till  the  stream  slackens." 

"  Man  and  boy,  I  never  missed  the  first  race  for 
seventy  years,  and  I  ten  years  in  the  workhouse 
itself,"  Dan  muttered,  his  palsied  head  shaking. 

"  Sure  they  won't  drop  the  flag  till  they  see  you 
on  the  course." 

"  There's  something  in  that,  and  I  a  well-known 
ancient  monument  in  it,"  Dan  said,  with  a  note  of 
pride  in  his  voice. 

There  was,  however,  little  fear  that  he  should  be 
late.  Long  after  one  o'clock  no  attempt  had  been 
made  at  a  start.  Driscoll  was  making  a  leisurely 
inspection  of  the  jumps. 

"  That's  where  every  man  came  down  in  '79," 
he  said  at  the  sunk  fence.  "  But  the  ground  is  in 
fine  fettle  to-day.  Neither  too  hard  nor  too  soft." 

"It's  half-past  one,"  Maurice  said  ;  "we  ought 
to  hurry  to  our  place." 

"  It's  one  of  the  queer  things  about  human 
nature  and  the  Liscannow  races,"  Driscoll  said, 
"that  the  people  near  break  their  necks  to  be  on 
the  course  at  one  o'clock,  and  still  every  one  knows 
that  sorra  race'll  be  run  till  two  o'clock,  or 
maybe  after.  A  finer  race-course  there  isn't  in  the 
whole  world,"  he  added,  looking  round  admiringly. 
"It  was  cut  out  by  the  hand  of  God  Himself  for  it." 

They  wandered  about  among  the  crowd,  greeting 
an  acquaintance  here  and  there.  At  two  Driscoll 
led  Maurice  to  a  knoll  at  the  foot  of  Slieve  Mor,  from 


WAITING  219 

which,  he  held,  the  best  view  was  to  be  had.  The 
narrow  valley,  with  every  jump  in  sight,  stretched 
at  their  feet.  Over  against  them,  on  the  side  of 
the  short  hill  that  hid  Liscannow,  was  the  unsightly 
structure  of  rough  planks  known  as  the  grand 
stand.  Long,  low  tents,  mounted  on  semicircular 
willow  wattles,  studded  the  base  of  the  hills  and  the 
centre  of  the  oval  track.  Tawdry  flags  fluttered  in 
a  slight  breeze.  The  raucous  voices  of  the  few 
bookmakers  in  the  enclosure,  echoed  from  the 
mountain  opposite.  Pewter  pots  clinked  on  the 
tables  in  front  of  the  tents.  A  roaring  trade  was 
done  in  porter,  pig's  crubeens,  ginger-bread,  and 
apples.  Cheap-jacks  cried  their  wares.  A  forlorn 
nigger  minstrel  on  an  empty  brandy  case  strummed 
a  banjo.  The  crowd  was  everywhere.  People  ate 
and  drank  and  were  merry,  or  made  a  luckless  venture 
on  the  three-card  trick  or  the  thimble.  A  bell 
sounded,  and  loud  voices  cried,  "  Clear  the  course." 
The  grand  stand  grew  into  a  patch  of  gay  colour. 
The  crowd  hastened  to  any,  and  every,  eminence 
that  promised  a  view.  Excitement  grew  as  the 
horses  were  led  to  the  post. 

"  Fourteen  starters,"  Father  Delahunty  said  in 
a  loud  voice  from  the  priests'  hill,  a  small  mound, 
east  of  the  rock  on  which  Maurice  and  Driscoll 
sat ;  "  it's  a  great  field  entirely.  Don't  be  pressing 
up  here,"  he  added  good-humouredly,  as  a  few  boys 
climbed  within  ten  or  twelve  paces  of  where  a  score 
of  priests  lounged,  "  or  we'll  be  lost  entirely." 

Maurice  looked  at  Driscoll  inquiringly.  "They've 
some  law  of  their  own,"  the  old  man  whispered  with 
a  smile,  "  against  attending  races.  But  some  clever 
theologian  made  out  that  as  long  as  they  weren't 
joined  to  the  throng  they  were  out  of  the  course." 


220  WAITING 

"  They're  off,  they're  off,"  rose  in  a  frenzied 
shout. 

"Well  done,  yellow  cappeen." 

"  He's  down,  I  tell  you." 

"  If  he  was  he's  on  his  legs  again.  There  he  is 
before  your  eyes." 

When  the  yellow  cap  won  in  a  close  finish, 
Driscoll,  as  excited  as  the  crowd,  ran  towards  the 
grand  stand,  shouting  to  Maurice  to  follow.  He 
lost  sight  of  Driscoll  in  crossing  the  course,  and  was 
hastening  his  steps  in  pursuit,  when  a  voice 
called  out  beside  him — 

"  Don't  be  running  away.  You're  the  very  man 
I  wanted." 

He  turned  and  saw  Tom  and  Minnie  and 
Alice. 

"  The  wife  there  isn't  feeling  very  well,  and  I 
must  be  taking  her  home,"  Tom  said  in  a  stage 
whisper.  "  Not  herself  by  any  manner  of  means 
these  times,  though  it's  natural  enough,  and  the  state 
she's  in.  But  she'll  be  fretting  if  we  spoil  the  day 
for  Miss  Barton.  She  came  along  with  us,  John 
Crawford,  poor  man,  not  holding  with  races,  though 
willing  to  give  freedom  to  her  if  she  had  a  mind. 
Let  you  keep  an  eye  on  her,  Maurice,  like  a  good 
man,  and  see  her  safe  home." 

Maurice  mumbled  a  confused  acceptance  of  the 
charge.  Alice  laughed,  offered  to  go  home  with 
Minnie,  who  would  not  hear  of  it.  They  disputed 
a  little.  A  strange  fear  that  Alice  would  prevail 
came  over  Maurice.  He  breathed  with  relief  when 
she  said — 

"  All  right  then — if  Mr.  Blake  won't  think  me 
a  nuisance." 

This  seemed  so  absurd  that  he  laughed.     They 


WAITING  221 

saw  Tom  and  Minnie  to  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd, 
and  then  wandered  back  over  the  course.  The  sun 
shone  brighter  and  the  people  looked  happier  since 
he  met  her.  They  ate  apples  and  gingerbread,  and 
drank  lemonade,  standing  by  a  table  at  a  tent  door. 
She  enjoyed  everything — a  chalked-face  acrobat 
who  twirled  a  barrel  on  his  toes,  a  ballad  singer  who 
sang  cheerfully  of  an  execution.  He  forgot  Driscoll 
till  the  course  was  being  cleared  for  the  second  race, 
too  late  to  seek  him  at  his  usual  stand.  A  short 
way  up  a  track  that  led  to  the  pass  over  the 
mountain  they  stood  to  watch  the  race. 

The  crowd  again  converged  on  the  grand  stand 
as  the  horses  passed  the  winning-post. 

"There  must  be  a  fine  view  higher  up,"  she 
said,  her  eyes  on  the  winding  path.  "  I  never 
saw  it." 

"  There  is." 

She  looked  at  him.  He  nodded.  She  led  the 
way  up  the  narrow  path.  They  climbed  for  nearly 
half  an  hour,  easily,  and  in  silence.  Only  once 
she  spoke.  She  picked  a  gentian.  "  That's  new  to 
me,"  she  said,  pinning  it  on  her  coat.  A  bell 
clanged  faintly  as  they  reached  the  stile  giving  on 
the  mountain  road. 

"  That's  another  race,"  he  said  doubtfully. 

She  turned  round  for  the  first  time  and  looked 
back. 

"  This  is  better,"  she  said,  drawing  a  deep 
breath. 

He  followed  her  eyes,  past  the  curiously  small 
crowd  of  midgets  that  moved  hither  and  thither 
in  the  valley,  over  the  low  hill  to  Liscannow, 
to  the  boats  lying  idly  in  the  harbour.  In  the 
offing  a  four-masted  schooner  hung  motionless 


222  WAITING 

on  the  glassy  sea.  A  ripple  that  seemed  but  a 
shadow  swept  over  the  water  in  her  wake.  Her 
sails  filled  out,  and,  in  a  few  seconds,  she  had  passed 
the  line  of  the  cathedral  spire.  A  hoarse  murmur 
arose  from  the  valley. 

"  They  are  off,"  he  said. 

"There  is  Durrisk — and  the  trees  in  Uncle 
John's  bawn.  Oh,  the  race  !  What  matter  ? " 

"  The  view  is  better  higher  up,"  he  said. 

They  followed  the  road  for  a  mile,  branched  off 
by  a  pathway,  and  soon  stood  on  the  summit  of  a 
spur,  some  yards  higher  than  the  road. 

"  The  gap,"  he  said. 

On  the  right  a  flat-topped  hill  was  carpeted  thick 
with  heather — a  purple  sea  with  oases  of  vivid  green 
fern.  Slieve  Mor  seemed  to  have  receded  across 
another  valley,  brown  with  peat  bogs,  through 
which  a  thin  white  road  wound  sinuously  till  it 
was  lost  in  the  side  of  the  mountain.  Funny  little 
fields  of  green  and  gold,  like  the  squares  on  a  chess- 
board, only  more  irregular  in  shape,  surrounded 
the  scattered  cottages  that  gleamed  white  in  the 
sun.  Away  on  the  left  was  the  sea  again,  bordered 
with  yellow  sands,  and  beyond,  a  long  mountain 
range  with  a  ridge  like  a  toothed  saw.  She  turned 
round  and  looked  down  on  Liscannow.  The  race- 
course was  hidden.  Only  faint  sounds,  like  the 
rustling  of  leaves  in  a  light  wind,  ascended  from  the 
valley.  The  ship  seemed  closer  to  land,  and,  far 
away,  the  horizon  was  lost  in  a  silver  haze.  The 
windows  of  Bourneen  chapel  reflected  the  sun  like 
mirrors.  A  rich  plain  rolled  between  the  mountains 
and  the  sea,  to  Liscoff  and  beyond.  A  warm 
crimson  tinged  everything. 

"  I've  felt  it  for  some  time — even  with  this  sun 


WAITING  223 

one  notices  it — with  a  grey  sky  there  is  no  doubting 
it — the  colour  of  Ireland  is  brown  not  green." 

She  spoke  in  a  detached  voice,  hesitatingly,  as 
if  she  was  disentangling  one  thought  from  another. 

"  You  are  tired,"  he  said  :  "  won't  you  sit 
down  ? " 

They  sat  on  the  parched  grass.  She  plucked  a 
spray  of  heather  from  a  clump  beside  her  and 
fingered  the  purple  bells  tenderly. 

Maurice  stared  at  the  shimmering  sea.  "  There 
is  so  much  to  .say,"  he  said. 

«  Yes  ? " 

"  I  avoided  you  because  I  love  you." 

Since  he  left  the  race- course  his  mind  had  been 
calm.  He  took  it  for  granted  that  there  was  some- 
thing he  had  to  say  to  her,  but  he  thought  of  it 
hardly  at  all.  He  spoke  now  without  feeling,  as  if 
reading  on  the  sea,  something  that  had  been  written 
there  ages  ago. 

"  That  was  it  then,"  she  nipped  off  one  of  the 
bells  and  watched  it  drop  slowly  to  the  ground. 

"  They  said — friends  like  Driscoll  and  Father 
Malone — that  I  should  lose  my  job  here,  that  it 
would  be  an  end  to  my  work." 

Her  fingers  closed  tightly  on  another  bell,  but 
she  didn't  pull  it  off.  She  listened  intently. 

"  I  was  tempted  to  be  a  coward.  Things  one  is 
doing  have  a  way  of  winding  themselves  round  one. 
They  become  part  of  one.  One  feels  there  is  no 
living  without  them.  But  I  didn't  give  in  to  that. 
I  felt,  and  I'm  certain  of  it  sitting  here,  that  there 
was  something  that  mattered  more,  a  man's  freedom, 
and — love." 

She  exhaled  the  breath,  which  she  had  been 
holding,  in  a  short  sigh  of  relief.  Her  bosom  rose 


224  WAITING 

and  fell  gently.  She  seemed  absorbed  in  the  colour 
of  the  spray,  holding  it  out  to  catch  the  light  at 
different  angles. 

"Tell  me  everything  from  the  beginning,"  she 
said  evenly,  without  looking  at  him. 

She  did  not  take  her  eyes  off  the  spray  while  he 
spoke.  She  held  it  motionless. 

"  That's  how  it  stands,"  he  wound  up.  "  It's 
no  disgrace  to  you  to  hear  that  a  man  loves  you 
and  wants  more  than  anything  in  the  world  to 
marry  you " 

"  No,"  she  said,  through  half-opened  lips. 

"  But,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  for  the  first 
time — she  seemed  to  feel  his  eyes,  lifted  hers,  and 
met  his  squarely, — "  before  I  ask  you  whether  you 
love  me  or'll  marry  me,  there's  one  condition  if 
you  say  Yes.  Father  James  may  give  in — then 
'twill  be  all  right.  If  he  doesn't,  and  I  have  to 
make  a  living  elsewhere,  you'll  be  free  of  any 
promise  till  I  earn  enough  to  support  you  in 
comfort." 

"  Comfort !  They  say  men  in  love  are  very 
dull-witted.  I  don't  love  conditionally,"  she  said, 
with  a  pathetic  little  smile. 

He  looked  at  her,  and  what  he  read  in  the 
depths  of  her  eyes  made  him  kiss  her  full  on  the 
mouth.  For  a  moment  her  head  slid  weakly  on  to 
his  shoulder.  He  felt  her  heart  beat  as  loudly  as 
his  own.  Her  hat  had  fallen  back.  The  westering 
sun  crowned  her  head  with  gold.  A  loose  strand  of 
hair  brushed  against  his  lips.  She  pushed  him 
away  gently,  and  a  shy  smile  lit  her  crimsoned  face 
as  she  fixed  her  hat. 

"  Difference  of  religion  is  a  small  thing  to  us," 
he  said. 


WAITING  225 

"  God  has  a  way  of  ignoring  these  differences," 
she  said,  looking  full  in  the  level  rays  of  the  sun. 
She  chanted  half  to  herself— 

"  Whither  thou  goest,  I  will  go  ;  and  where 
thou  lodgest,  I  will  lodge  ;  thy  people  shall  be  my 
people,  and  thy  God  my  God." 

"  That  sounds  like  the  Bible — I  don't  know  it 
much.  Catholics  don't  read  it,"  he  said  simply. 

"  We  have  the  one  country  and  the  one  God — 
they  must  let  us  serve  Him  as  our  hearts  bid  us," 
she  said  rising.  She  laughed  happily,  a  ringing 
laugh  that  sounded  in  Maurice's  ears  like  music 
against  the  silence.  "  You  are  a  nice  lover — you've 
put  me  to  the  shame  of  accepting  you  without  being 
asked." 

"  I  believe  you  led  me  up  here  to  propose  to 
me  ?  "  he  said  with  a  gleam  in  his  eyes. 

She  looked  at  him  serenely.  "  Aunt  Ruth  says 
men  are  only  poor  whist  bodies,"  she  said  lightly, 
leading  the  way  down  the  path.  "  If  we  dawdle 
here  any  longer  we'll  miss  all  the  races." 

She  still  had  the  spray  of  heather  in  her  hand. 
She  gazed  at  it  curiously,  buried  her  face  in  it, 
hummed  a  tune,  fixed  the  heather  in  her  blouse  and 
buttoned  her  coat  over  it.  They  walked  down  the 
road  abreast.  Alice  was  grave  and  silent.  At  the 
stile  leading  to  the  race-course  she  began  to  sob 
quietly. 

"  Why  ?  What  in  the  world  ? "  he  said  in 
surprise. 

"  Nothing,"  she  said. 

He  kissed  her.  She  clung  to  him  and  sobbed 
aloud — 

"  You'll  miss  your  work  here.  It's  all  my  fault, 
and  so  much  depending  on  you.  You'll  make  a 


226  WAITING 

fight  to  keep  it,  Maurice  ?     No  priest  could  be  so 
cruel " 

"Never  mind,  little  girl.  If  my  work  here 
goes,  I  must  find  or  make  other  work.  Besides,  one 
day  I'll  be  making  you  give  up  yours,  and  you're 
fond  enough  of  it." 

"  Oh,  mine  !  mine  is  different,"  she  said 
thoughtfully. 

"  I'll  fight  of  course,"  he  said  firmly.  "  There 
are  bigger  interests  than  ours  involved  in  this." 

"  Some  day  I  may  see  that,"  she  said,  mounting 
the  stile,  "  but  to-day  ours  is  big  enough  for  me. 
It  fills  the  whole  world." 

They  walked  in  single  file  down  the  steep  path, 
speaking  little.  Once  she  said,  "  We'll  slip  away 
home  quietly.  I  feel  shy  of  meeting  any  one."  And 
again,  with  a  puckered  brow,  "  Without  trouble  of 
one  kind  or  another  maybe  we'd  pass  real  happiness 
by,  without  knowing  it."  When  they  were  half- 
way down  a  race  started.  They  stood  for  a  few 
minutes  to  watch  it.  The  crowd  cheered  the 
winner  lustily. 

"  I  wonder  if  the  beaten  have  any  pleasure  in 
the  race  ? "  she  asked. 

He  was  thinking  of  her,  and  of  his  coming 
interview  with  Father  Mahon. 

"  We  can't  be  beaten.  I  can't  anyway — I  have 
you  now." 

She  laughed  softly. 

At  the  end  of  the  path  Driscoll  met  them.  He 
looked  tired  and  worried. 

"  You,  here  ?  "  Maurice  said  with  surprise.  "  We 
were  up  at  the  gap." 

"  The  whole  race-course  knows  it  from  Matsey 
Boylan,"  Driscoll  said  dryly.  "  I  thought  you'd 


WAITING  227 

have  sense,  Miss  Barton,  if  Maurice  had  none 
itself." 

"  I  have  less  than  none,"  she  said,  with  her  old 
air  of  assurance.  Then  seeing  the  pained  look  on  the 
old  man's  face,  she  caught  his  hand  in  both  of  hers 
and  said  eagerly,  "  You  must  be  glad — you've  been 
so  good  to  him — and  to  me." 

He  looked  from  Alice  to  Maurice,  smiled  feebly 
and  said — 

"  May  God  help  you  both." 


CHAPTER   XVI 

MATSEY  BOYLAN'S  story  had  fleeter  legs  than  the 
horses  in  the  hunt  race.  By  nightfall  variants  of  it 
had  reached  many  houses  in  Bourneen.  All  Matsey 
had  seen  was  Maurice  and  Alice,  several  yards  apart, 
walking  up  the  path  to  the  gap.  He  had  followed 
them  for  a  couple  of  hundred  yards,  till  his  weak 
feet  gave  out.  He  lost  sight  of  them,  sat  on  a 
boulder,  nursing  a  feeble,  jealous  wrath  in  his  half- 
witted mind.  After  waiting  for  an  hour  he  returned 
to  the  race-course  and  told  his  tale,  with  some  added 
embroidery,  suggested  by  his  imagination,  on  each 
repetition.  He  told  Driscoll  that  he  had  seen 
Maurice  Blake  and  the  girl  at  the  Crawfords' 
walking  alone  up  the  mountain.  Jim  Reardon  said 
"  Be  off  to  hell  out  of  this,"  when  Matsey  whispered 
with  nods  and  winks  that  Maurice  and  Alice  had 
been  hugging  and  kissing.  Instead,  he  sidled  up  to 
Dempsey,  Crawford's  workman,  and  announced 
mysteriously  "  queer  carryings  on  entirely  up  there 
on  the  mountain  out  of  sight  of  everybody." 

So  the  story  spread. 

It  was  at  home  before  Alice.  John  Crawford 
sat  silent  ;  Mrs.  Crawford  was  excited  and  fussy. 
She  made  much  noise  in  preparing  tea  on  the  kitchen 
table,  but  she  said  nothing. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  hear  about  the  races  ?  " 
Alice  said,  taking  a  chair  in  front  of  the  fire. 


WAITING  229 

"  They're  misfortunate  things,"  Crawford  said 
dourly. 

"  By  all  accounts,  you  didn't  see  much  of  them," 
Mrs.  Crawford  said,  busily  polishing  a  cup,  her  face 
to  the  dresser. 

"  Oh  !  "  Alice  said,  looking  from  one  to  the 
other.  Crawford  was  staring  at  the  fire,  and  her 
aunt  did  not  turn  round. 

"  Maurice  Blake  asked  me  to  marry  him,  and  I 
said  I  would — I'm  very  fond  of  him,"  she  added 
shyly,  after  a  pause. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you?"  Mrs.  Crawford  said 
triumphantly  to  her  husband. 

"  There  was  never  any  lack  of  trust  in  her  with 
me,"  Crawford  said.  "  It's  the  idea  of  a  mixed 
marriage  that  I  don't  like." 

His  eyes  grew  more  gentle.  Suddenly  he  stared 
as  if  he  saw  some  horrible  vision.  He  stood  up, 
his  hands  clenched. 

"  It's  not  thinking  of  being  a  turn-coat  you 
are  ?  "  he  said  harshly. 

"  No.  Maurice  is  above  that  sort  of  mean- 
ness— and  I  hope  I  am,"  Alice  said  proudly. 

"That's  something  at  least,"  Crawford  said  with 
a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  I  wish  I  was  at  home,"  Alice  said  forlornly. 
Her  lip  trembled.  She  gulped  in  the  effort  to 
keep  back  tears. 

Mrs.  Crawford  enfolded  her  in  an  ample 
bosom,  patted  her  on  the  shoulder,  and  said 
angrily — 

"  There  now,  John  Crawford,  see  what  you've 
done  with  all  your  stiff-necked  religious  talk — she 
as  much  as  saying  that  this  house  is  no  home  to  her. 
Don't  cry,  alanna.  You  that  ought  to  be  a  father 


230  WAITING 

and  a  mother  to  her,"  with  a  threatening  look  at  her 
husband. 

"  It's  because  I'm  fond  of  her,"  he  said  in  a 
voice  that  betrayed  little  tenderness,  though  his  eyes 
had  softened. 

Alice  put  her  hand  on  his,  and  he  pressed  it. 

"  The  Scarlet  Woman  has  all  the  wiles  of  Satan," 
he  said  after  a  short  silence. 

"  She  won't  beguile  me,"  Alice  said  laughing. 

"Troth,  Alice'll  be  able  for  her,"  Mrs.  Crawford 
said  pleasantly.  "  It  might  easily  be  worse.  He's 
a  fine,  up-standing  boy  with  good  pay  though  he's  a 
Roman  itself.  Alice  can  bring  up  the  girls  her  way 
of  thinking,  and  Maurice'll  likely  want  to  carry  the 
boys  with  him — still,  a  mother  can  do  a  great  deal." 

"  You're  only  talking  nonsense,  woman," 
Crawford  said,  waving  her  opinions  aside  with  an 
emphatic  sweep  of  his  hand.  "  That  used  to  be  the 
old  way,  but  the  Pope  of  Rome  long  ago  changed 
it.  I  had  a  cousin  of  my  own  that  once  married 
a  Papist,  and  I  know  the  law  of  it."  The  unusual 
length  of  his  speech  seemed  to  worry  him.  He 
stood  up,  clutched  the  back  of  a  chair  and 
continued  :  "  I  read  the  paper  that  my  cousin 
Richard  was  made  to  sign  by  the  parish  priest, 
and  sorra  word  of  it  I  liked — that  he'd  be  married 
in  a  Catholic  chapel,  and  that  every  one  of  the 
children,  be  they  boys  or  girls,  'd  be  brought  up 
Papists.  And  as  if  that  wasn't  enough,  the  woman 
he  wanted  to  marry  had  to  take  her  book  oath, 
besides,  that  she'd  make  every  endeavour  to  turn 
Richard  into  a  Catholic." 

"  That's  a  fairly  finished  halter,"  Mrs.  Crawford 
said,  with  a  doubtful  look  at  her  husband. 

"  It  is — and  a  promise  is  a  promise  whether  it's 


WAITING  231 

made  to  a  priest  or  a  minister,"  Crawford  said, 
dropping  wearily  on  his  chair. 

"  I  don't  know  that  any  woman'd  think  she'd  be 
bound  by  a  promise,  wrung  out  of  her  in  a  minute 
of  weakness.  Come  on  now  and  let  us  have  our 
supper.  We're  all  starved — and  that  boy  not  in 
yet,"  Mrs.  Crawford  said,  pouring  water  into  the 
tea-pot. 

"  This  is  all  new  to  me,  Uncle  John,"  Alice  said, 
when  her  aunt  moved  to  the  table  ;  "  I  don't  believe 
Maurice  knows.  I'll  speak  to  him.  I  was  only 
thinking  of  him  and  his  troubles — I'll  tell  you  about 
them  again.  Only,  Uncle  John,  I  love  him,  you 
know." 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  kissed  her  fore- 
head lightly  and  said — 

"The  blessing  of  God  on  you  both." 

An  earlier  version  of  Matsey's  tale  reached  the 
Blakes.  Jim  Reardon  called  late  to  inquire  about 
Minnie.  He  found  her  seated  in  a  low  chair  by 
the  fire,  sewing  some  garment  which  she  hid  in  her 
apron  as  he  approached. 

"  Hanny  is  in  the  dairy,"  she  said,  "  and  the  rest 
are  seeing  after  one  thing  or  another  for  the  night." 

"  How  is  yourself  ?  " 

"  What'd  be  wrong  with  me  ?  'Twas  a  great  day, 
I'm  told." 

Jim  laughed  and  looked  round  cautiously. 
"  Maurice  is  the  sly  lad.  If  he  wasn't  seen  kissing 
a  girl  to-day." 

"  Well  I  never — who  was  she  ? — who  told 
you  ?  "  Mrs.  Tom  said  excitedly. 

"  Matsey  Boylan  told  me." 

Minnie's    face    fell.      "  Oh,    him  !  "    she    said 


232  WAITING 

in  a  disappointed  tone.  "  He  sees  kissing  in  his 
dreams.  Didn't  he  say  once  that  I  kissed  him — the 
hoary  old  ruffian  that  ought  to  be  saying  his  prayers. 
But  who  was  she  anyway  ?  " 

"  I  oughtn't  to  mention  it,"  Jim  said  doubtfully. 

"  What's  the  harm  and  there  nothing  in  it — to 
your  own  sister  too,  and  'twon't  pass  my  lips." 

"Well,  if  you  promise — 'twas  Miss  Barton." 

"  Her — that  bangs  Banagher.  You'd  think 
butter  wouldn't  melt  in  either  of  their  mouths.  I 
wonder  ?  I  left  them  together,  anyway." 

Tom  lifted  the  latch  and  came  in. 

"  Tom,  Tom,"  she  shrieked,  "  if  Maurice  wasn't 
seen  kissing  Alice  Barton  to-day  after  we  left." 

"  And  why  wouldn't  he,  if  he  wanted  to,"  Tom 
said  lightly. 

"  I  never  kissed  a  man  but  the  one  I  married," 
Minnie  said  primly. 

"  You're  a  wonder,  you  are,"  Tom  said,  stroking 
her  hair  and  winking  at  Jim.  "  And  maybe 
Maurice  is  going  to  marry  her." 

"  And  she  a  Protestant — a  likely  job.  Them 
quiet  fellows  are  the  worst  when  they  go  galivanting," 
she  said,  screwing  her  lips  and  eyes  to  a  look  of 
wisdom. 

"  I'm  blest,  but  so  she  is — but  why  not  if  it  goes 
to  that  ?  "  Tom  said,  scratching  his  head.  "  She's 
a  very  complete  girl  no  matter  what  her  religion  is." 

Tom  passed  on  the  joke  about  "  Maurice  the 
rogue  of  the  world  "  to  Hanny  when  she  came  in  ; 
but  she  only  looked  at  Jim  Reardon  and  laughed. 

"  And  who  gave  out  that  tale  about  my  son  ? " 
Mrs.  Blake  said  when  she  heard  it. 

"  I  never  believed  it,  ma'am,"  Jim  said  eagerly. 

"  You,   Jim    Reardon  —  I'm   ashamed    of  you. 


WAITING  233 

I've  a  good  mind  to  send  you  straight  to  bed, 
Hanny,  sniggering  there.  It's  them  that  are  always 
hiding  in  dark  corners  themselves  that'd  spread  a 
report  about  a  boy  that  never  looked  the  other  side 
of  the  road  a  woman  was  at  in  his  whole  life.  Kneel 
down  every  one  of  ye  and  say  the  rosary  and  ask 
God  to  forgive  ye." 

Later,  when  the  others  had  gone,  she  and  Mike 
sat  before  the  fire. 

"  Do  you  think  there's  anything  in  it,  Mike  ?  " 
she  asked  anxiously. 

"  There  might,  and  then  there  mightn't,"  Mike 
said,  weighing  his  pipe  on  his  forefinger  judicially. 
"  If  one  could  see  light  over  her  being  a  Protestant, 
she  wouldn't  make  a  bad  match  at  all.  She  could 
hold  on  to  her  job — it's  great  money  they'd  be 
drawing  entirely." 

"  That's  a  fence  that's  not  easy  jumped — and  God 
forbid  that  it  should.  I  know  the  like  is  done,  but 
none  of  my  blood  ever  had  a  Protestant  drop  in 
their  veins.  'Twas  an  unlucky  day  she  came  into 
the  parish.  May  God  and  His  Blessed  Mother  be 
about  my  boy's  bed  to-night." 

"  It's  a  dark  problem  surely,"  Mike  said. 

"  You  and  your  problems  !  "  she  said  angrily, 
"  and  maybe  the  boy  suffering  from  a  heart  scald." 

"  The  like  of  that  is  easy  got  over." 

"  Your  pipe  is  out.     Be  off  to  bed  with  you." 

She  sat  long  over  the  fire  telling  her  beads.  As 
she  raked  the  ashes  over  the  smouldering  sods  she 
ejaculated — 

"  God  send  he  may  not  sup  sorrow  if  his  heart  is 
set  on  her." 

Father  Mahon  had  been  nursing  disappointment 


234  WAITING 

and  a  sharp  attack  of  indigestion  for  two  days.  He 
had  had  authoritative  information,  from  a  friend  in 
Rome,  that  Dr.  Hannigan  was  not  to  be  sent  to 
Droomeen,  but  was  to  be  held  in  reserve  for  a 
higher  appointment,  expected  soon  to  fall  vacant. 
He  took  a  gloomy  view  of  the  world.  He  was 
vexed  with  Dr.  Hannigan  who  must  have  known 
the  intentions  of  the  Roman  authorities,  and  yet  had 
allowed  him,  a  friend,  to  go  on  lavishing  expense 
and  trouble  on  a  fruitless  quest.  He  was  angry 
with  himself  for  having  neglected  his  parish  for  so 
long.  He  had  some  sort  of  dull  grievance  against 
the  priests  who  had  promised  to  support  him,  and 
against  Father  Malone  who  had  done  his  work. 
His  dignity  and  inclination  had  always  fought  over 
the  Liscannow  races.  But  now  his  dignity  was 
momentarily  in  eclipse.  He  would  have  gone  to 
the  priests'  hill,  but  at  the  last  moment  he  quailed 
before  inevitable  references  to  the  bishopric.  It 
would  have  hurt  him  to  admit  that  the  chance  was 
off:  it  would  have  hurt  him,  knowing  what  he  knew, 
to  discuss  the  bishopric  as  if  it  were  still  open.  So 
he  brooded  in  misery  at  home.  There  was  also  a 
minor  annoyance  that,  at  intervals,  irritated  him  ex- 
ceedingly. A  colt  which  he  had  sold  for  a  trifling 
price,  was  expected  to  win  the  Farmers'  Plate.  He 
felt  that  his  judgment  was  at  stake,  and  had  no 
little  anxiety  to  hear  that  Clinker  had  lost.  He 
stayed  up  late  in  the  hope  that  Father  Delahunty 
or  some  friend  would  call  on  the  way  home  from 
the  races.  Unhappily  no  one  called. 

Next  morning,  in  the  sacristy,  he  said  gruffly  to 
Matsey  Boylan— 

"  My  man  is  away.  Run  up  to  the  house  and 
wash  my  trap." 


WAITING  235 

After  breakfast  he  went  out  to  the  yard  and 
looked  on  at  the  operation. 

"  You  were  at  the  races,  yesterday  ?  '* 

u  I  was  then." 

"  What  won  the  Farmers'  Plate  ? " 

Matsey  scratched  his  head.  "  Sorra  one  of  me 
passed  any  notice  on  it." 

"  I  might  have  known  your  blind  eyes  could 
see  nothing." 

"Troth,  they  seen  more  than  you  think,  your 
reverence.  Queer  things,  I  tell  you,"  Matsey  said, 
blinking  foolishly,  the  mop,  held  head  upwards, 
dripping  on  his  shoes. 

"  What  things  ?  " 

"  The  schoolmaster  below,"  indicating  the  direc- 
tion of  the  school  with  the  mop,  "  and  the  girl  that 
teaches  the  poultry." 

"  Hum  ?  "  Father  James  said,  with  an  interroga- 
tive lifting  of  his  eyebrows. 

"  Stole  away  alone  up  the  mountain  glen  they  did, 
and  spent  the  whole  day  there  out  of  sight  of  every- 
body— and  the  whole  race-course  remarking  on  it. 
The  things  that  were  said'd  make  a  man's  hair 
stiffen." 

He  shrank  back  from  the  priest's  thunderous 
look,  and  began  to  mop  the  wheel  of  the  trap 
nervously. 

"  I  wasn't  meaning  any  harm,"  he  mumbled, 
looking  up. 

But  Father  James  was  stalking  back  to  the  house 
in  all  the  just  anger  of  righteousness.  That  a 
schoolmaster  of  his  should  be  the  cause  of  scandal 
to  a  whole  countryside  !  It  was  an  injury  to  him- 
self that  cut  him  to  the  quick.  What  would  the 
world  think  of  him  to  tolerate  such  conduct  ?  He 


236  WAITING 

stamped  through  the  hall  and  walked  rapidly  up  and 
down  the  path  in  front  of  the  house  with  bent 
brows.  Ordinarily  he  discounted  most  of  what 
Matsey  said,  but  he  never  questioned  reflections  on 
any  one's  morality.  He  knew  how  hard  it  was  to 
keep  strong  passions  in  control.  And  as  others  had 
not  his  strength,  given  the  occasion,  he  suspected 
them  of  the  worst.  And  had  he  not  ample  evidence 
against  this  Blake  ?  He  had  stood  up  against  his 
priest,  was  disobedient  and  rebellious.  Goodness 
only  knew  how  long  this  unholy  passion  existed. 
There  was  that  Protestant  girl  —  and  every  one 
knew  Protestant  girls  had  no  morals,  for  there  was 
no  one  to  keep  a  heavy  hand  over  them — loose  on 
the  parish  for  nearly  six  months.  She  must  have 
been  at  the  bottom  of  Blake's  refusal  of  the  decent 
marriage  which  he,  in  the  goodness  of  his  heart, 
had  offered  him.  All  the  circumstances  aggravated 
Blake's  offence.  As  a  teacher  he  insulted  his 
manager,  as  a  parishioner  his  parish  priest.  His 
anger  grew.  His  official  position  was  dragged  in 
the  mire.  He  was  flouted  as  the  guardian  of 
morals  and  religion.  .  .  .  His  anger  exhausted  itself 
in  the  thought  that  he  had  the  power  to  punish. 
His  self-confidence,  which  had  been  dormant  for  a 
few  days,  revived.  He  drew  himself  up  in  the 
middle  of  the  path,  stretched  out  his  arms,  bent 
them  as  if  expanding  the  muscles.  He  felt  physically 
better  already.  The  languor  and  unrest  of  dyspepsia 
had  passed  away.  He  set  his  jaws  and  sniffed 
the  air,  scenting  battle  joyfully.  He  went  into 
his  study,  wrote  a  short  note,  rang  the  bell,  sent 
for  Matsey  Boylan,  and,  handing  him  the  note, 
said — 

"  Here,    take    that    down    to    the   schoolmaster 


WAITING  237 

at  the  village,  and  don't  let  the  grass  grow  under 
your  feet." 

Ever  since  he  parted  from  Alice,  Maurice  Blake 
felt  himself  another  man.  He  seemed  to  have 
grown  past  his  own  recognition.  His  limbs  swung 
freely  with  a  new  strength.  Mind  and  body  and 
will  were  in  harmony.  The  gorgeous  colours  in 
the  evening  sky  were  only  a  faint  reflex  of  some- 
thing mysterious  and  satisfying  within  himself. 
The  road  had  a  resilience  it  lacked  before.  There 
was  music  in  the  loud  rattle  of  harness  as  jolting, 
springless  carts  went  by  rapidly  from  the  races,  and 
in  the  cracking  of  whips  and  in  the  peals  of  harsh 
laughter.  Driscoll  alone  seemed  outside  a  universal 
joy.  He  was  morose  and  silent.  Once  he  stumbled 
over  a  loose  stone.  His  feet  dragged  and  his  face 
had  a  drawn  look.  Maurice  offered  him  an  arm. 
He  leant  heavily  on  it,  but  did  not  speak.  He 
stopped  opposite  the  parochial  house.  Nodding 
towards  the  light  in  Father  Mahon's  study  window 
he  said — 

"  He'll  break  you  if  you  go  on  with  this  madness." 

"  He  can't  touch  me." 

"  He  can  drive  you  out  of  the  parish." 

"  That's  nothing." 

"  Have  you  no  fear  at  all  in  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  not — only  sorrow  that  you're  taking 
things  so  much  to  heart." 

"  And  no  sorrow  for  putting  yourself  in  danger 
of  leaving  your  work  that  I  thought  your  heart 
was  in  ? " 

"  And  you  thought  rightly.  But  a  man's  work  is 
only  a  part  of  him,  and  something  bigger  than  my- 
self has  hold  of  me  to-night.  It " 


238  WAITING 

His  voice  trailed  off  as  if  no  further  words  were 
necessary.  His  eyes  sought  the  sky  in  the  west. 
What  he  felt  was  all  there  in  that  luminous  arc  of 
indescribable  colour,  the  afterglow  of  the  departed 
sun,  a  blend  of  the  brilliant  hues  of  a  moment 
back — the  love  that  shut  out  fear,  that  gave  his 
soul  the  freedom  of  the  illimitable  spaces  beyond 
the  stars  and  filled  it  with  trust  and  hope  and 
faith.  .  .  . 

Yet  it  saddened  him  a  little  in  his  great  joy  that 
Driscoll  only  gave  a  weary  sigh. 

In  his  dreams  that  night  the  lady  of  his  child- 
hood came  again.  She  was  seated  on  the  spur  above 
the  gap  road.  The  sun  caught  her  hair.  Her 
lonely,  detached  look  had  gone.  Her  eyes  were 
the  eyes  of  Alice  Barton,  and  her  hair,  as  he  clasped 
her  to  his  heart,  had  the  same  fragrance  that  still 
remained  in  his  senses  from  the  afternoon. 

In  the  morning  he  was  up  with  the  dawn. 
He  threw  his  window  open  wide  to  the  growing 
light  and  the  twittering  of  birds.  A  cool  breeze 
fanned  his  face.  His  heart  was  full  of  sound  and 
colour  and  a  deep  content.  Red  gold  rays  shot  up 
in  the  east,  paling  the  softer  tints.  Sitting  by  the 
open  window  he  wrote  his  column  for  The  Star  of 
Liberty.  At  breakfast  he  read  it  to  Driscoll,  who 
seemed  brighter,  and  walked  with  him  to  the  school 
gate,  discussing  the  tale.  As  usual  on  the  day  after 
a  holiday  the  children  were  late.  Stragglers  were 
still  coming  in  when  Matsey  Boylan  appeared  at  the 
door  and  beckoned  mysteriously.  In  the  porch 
Maurice  read  the  note,  a  curt  command  to  come  at 
once  to  the  parochial  house.  He  told  Miss  Devoy, 
who  had  just  come  in  smiling,  that  he  had  to  leave 
for  a  few  minutes.  He  went  back  to  the  schoolroom 


WAITING  239 

and  arranged  the  classes.  As  he  passed  out,  Matsey 
was  lingering  at  the  gate. 

"Toko  you'll  be  getting  up  above,"  he  said, 
with  a  jerk  of  his  head  towards  Father  Mahon's 
house. 

Maurice  laughed.  "  Had  you  a  good  day 
yesterday,  Matsey  ?  "  he  said  pleasantly. 

"  Only  middling,"  Matsey  said  dismally.  "  But 
it  might  brighten  up,  it  might  brighten  up — Matsey 
might  have  his  day  yet,"  he  added  with  a  leer. 

The  serjeant  of  police  lounged  at  the  barrack 
gate,  capless,  his  tunic  open,  his  hands  thrust  into 
the  waist  of  his  trousers. 

"Easy  known  you  hadn't  the  Liscannow  pubs 
to  mind  on  a  race  night.  I'm  that  tired  I  haven't 
the  heart  to  shave  myself,"  he  said  with  a  yawn. 

Maurice  passed  on  with  a  wave  of  his  hand. 
He  was  vaguely  wondering  what  Father  Mahon 
could  want  him  for.  Perhaps  about  the  confirmation 
on  Tuesday  week — some  fault-finding,  of  course. 
Anyway,  the  children  were  prepared.  He  might  as 
well  have  it  out  with  the  priest  now  about  Alice. 
Or  should  he  wait  till  he  had  another  talk  with  her  ? 
He  hummed  blithely. 

"That's  not  the  funeral  march  of  them  fool 
societies  of  yours  by  any  chance  ?  "  Clancy,  of  the 
general  shop,  said  with  a  grin. 

"You'll  be  buying  your  own  manure  from  us 
next,"  Maurice  said  cheerfully. 

"  I  wouldn't  mind  taking  your  bankrupt  stock — 
it'll  likely  be  in  the  market  soon — dirt  cheap.  But 
where  are  you  off  to  ?  and  it  school  time  too." 

"To  see  the  manager." 

"  He's  the  sensible  man,  now  !  with  none  of  ye'r 
new-fangled  nonsense  and  amachoor  shopkeeping. 


24o  WAITING 

Let  me  know  when  ye're  in  Stubbs's  list.  Clancy 
and  long  credit'll  beat  down  ready-money — with 
the  lads  you've  to  deal  with." 

"They've  more  sense  than  that,"  Maurice  said 
laughing  and  walking  on. 

"  God  help  your  head,"  Clancy  shouted,  good- 
humouredly. 

Father  Mahon  was  seated  at  his  desk  when 
Maurice  entered  the  study. 

"  Sit  down  there,"  he  said,  turning  round  and 
pointing  to  a  chair  beside  the  desk. 

Maurice  sat  with  his  face  towards  the  priest, 
who  glared  at  a  paper  on  the  desk. 

"  This  is  a  copy  of  our  agreement,"  he  said, 
flattening  out  the  paper  with  his  open  palm. 
"  Terminable  on  three  months'  notice,  or,"  he 
raised  his  voice,  "  without  notice,  for  cause — for 
cause,  do  you  hear  ? "  he  added  in  an  emphatic 
shout. 

"  I  hear." 

"  You  hear,  do  you  ?  Maybe,  you'd  soon  have 
to  heed  it.  You're  a  nice  example  to  the  innocent 
young  children  of  the  parish  !  I'll  put  the  fear 
of  God  into  you  before  I'm  done — trapseing  the 
mountains  with  Protestant  sluts  !  " 

It  was  some  seconds  before  Maurice  realized 
what  the  priest  had  said. 

"That  look  of  injured  innocence  is  thrown  away 
on  me,"  Father  Mahon  continued  angrily.  "  You 
and  your  Protestant " 

"  Stop,"  Maurice  interrupted  quietly.  His  eyes 
blazed.  "  You  may  say  something  that'll  make  me 
forget  you're  a  priest — if  you're  speaking  of  the  girl 
who  is  to  be  my  wife." 

The    priest,    who    was    rising    angrily   from  his 


WAITING  241 

chair,    dropped    back  into    it   again.     His  jaw  fell. 
He  stared  at  Maurice  in  astonishment. 

"  I  don't  remember  her  name — that  niece  of 
Crawford's  ?  "  he  said  limply. 

"  Yes,"  Maurice  said  coldly,  "  and  I  want  a 
dispensation  to  marry  her." 

Father  Mahon  steadied  himself  with  the  arms  of 
his  chair.  His  face  grew  livid.  He  attempted  to 
speak,  but  only  muttered  incoherently.  His  eyes 
fell  on  the  agreement  on  the  desk.  He  gazed  at  it 
for  several  minutes  in  silence.  He  seized  a  pen  and 
wrote  rapidly  on  a  sheet  of  note-paper.  He  unlocked 
a  drawer,  took  out  a  cheque-book  and  filled  in  a 
cheque.  When  he  looked  again  at  Maurice  his 
face  had  changed  to  an  expression  of  contempt. 

"  There,  take  that,"  he  said. 

Maurice  took  the  sheet  of  paper  and  the  cheque. 
When  he  had  read  the  notice  of  summary  dismissal, 
he  held  up  the  cheque  and  asked  with  a  wry  smile — 

«  What  is  this  for  ?  " 

"Oh,  that — I  don't  owe  it  to  you  of  course- 
but   to    save   trouble — three  months'  pay  in  lieu  of 
notice." 

"  So  you  know  you're  doing  wrong,"  Maurice 
said,  placing  the  cheque  on  the  desk. 

"  That's  your  game,  is  it  ?  Wrong,  am  1  ?  1 
don't  give  that,"  snapping  his  fingers,  "  for  all  you 
can  do — or  your  Teachers'  Union  either — or  the 
National  Board.  I'm  manager  and  I'll  do  as  I  like. 
And  if  you  go  to  law  a  jury  can  be  trusted  to 
deal  with  a  dangerous  character  like  you — without 
morality  or  religion.  Not  that  you  have  a  leg  to 
stand  on — I'm  dismissing  you  for  cause." 

He  stood  up  and  waved  his  hand  towards  the 
door.  "  Don't  darken  the  door  of  my  school  again." 

R 


242  WAITING 

Maurice  made  a  successful  effort  to  restrain  his 
temper.  It  was  all  some  ghastly  mistake,  he 
thought — some  misapprehension  on  the  priest's  part. 

He  himself  had  been  too  hasty. 

"  What  is  the  cause  ? "  he  asked  quietly. 

"  Grave  public  scandal." 

"  What  scandal  ?  " 

"  I'll  give  you  no  explanation — far  be  it  from 
me.  You  have  an  appeal  against  me  to  the  bishop — 
if  you  think  it  worth  while." 

"  I  suppose  that's  all  that's  left  to  me,"  Maurice 
said  bitterly.  "  What  about  the  dispensation  ? " 

"  You  can  ask  the  bishop  for  that  too,"  Father 
Mahon  said,  again  pointing  to  the  door.  "  You'll 

never  get  it  with  my  good  will — you See  if  I 

don't  put  a  spoke  in  your  wheel." 


CHAPTER   XVII 

A  THIN  drizzle  of  rain  fell  from  early  morning  on 
the  day  of  the  Confirmation  at  Bourneen.  A  white 
mist  hung  over  the  village,  light  and  silvery, 
with  a  promise  of  sunshine  that  did  not  come. 
The  trees  loomed  ghost-like  in  the  still  air. 
Occasionally  a  sodden,  faded  leaf  fell  slowly  to  the 
ground.  A  grey  rime  frosted  the  heavy  nap  of 
freize  coats  and  woollen  shawls,  evaporating  in  the 
warm  air  almost  as  quickly  as  it  formed.  Boys 
whistled  cheerfully,  regardless  of  the  rain,  and  one 
said,  "  There  isn't  enough  wet  in  a  month  of  it  to 
pierce  my  new  coat."  But  the  little  girls  suffered. 
Their  long  hair  was  lank  and  damp  ;  their  thin, 
white  dresses,  coloured  sashes,  and  white  stockings 
were  limp  and  draggled.  Anxious  mothers  hurried 
their  children  into  the  church  porch  and  tried  to 
make  good  the  damage  of  the  weather.  Men 
lounged  outside,  smoked,  chatted  in  low  tones,  or 
idly  watched  the  intermittent  stream  of  people,  afoot, 
in  carts,  traps  and  side-cars,  arriving  at  the  gate.  A 
dozen  or  more  priests  in  heavy  overcoats  and  silk 
hats  passed  by  to  the  sacristy.  Father  Mahon,  in 
soutane  and  surplice,  an  umbrella  held  high  to 
protect  his  well-laundried  surplice  from  the  rain, 
walked  several  times  to  the  gate  and  eagerly  scanned 
the  road  in  the  direction  of  Liscannow. 

"  He's  as  nervous  as  a  clucking  hen,"  Hinnissey 
said. 


244  WAITING 

"That's  strange  enough,  and  he  next  door  to 
being  a  bishop  himself,  I'm  told,"  Larry  Reardon 
said. 

"  The  Lord  save  us,  he'll  be  a  holy  terror  entirely 
then." 

"  How  will  Maurice  Blake  come  out  of  it,  do 
you  think?"  Teigue  Donlon  asked.  "They  say 
the  bishop  himself  is  going  to  have  a  hand  in  it." 

"  Sorra  word  Mike  Blake'll  say  on  it,  but  pull  a 
long  face,  though  I'm  connected  with  him  myself," 
Larry  Reardon  said.  "Not  a  foot  I'd  come  near 
this  to-day,  and  I  having  a  barn  full  of  wheat  to  put 
into  sacks,  only  I'm  expecting  the  bishop  to  say  a 
word  about  it  from  the  altar." 

"  The  same  here,"  Teigue  said.  "  The  parish  is 
full  of  it.  There's  as  many  tales  going  round  as 
there's  spikes  on  a  hedgehog." 

"  There's  great  fairness  in  the  bishop,  they  say," 
Larry  said. 

"  He's  a  soft-spoken  man,"  Hinnissey  said,  with 
a  keen  eye  on  a  slight  clearing  in  the  mist. 

In  the  sacristy  a  group  of  priests  stood  round 
the  fire-place.  Through  the  window  Father  Mahon's 
stalwart  form  could  be  seen  swinging  down  the  path 
to  the  gate. 

"  Sacking  teachers  without  notice  he  is  now," 
one  said,  with  a  nod  at  the  window. 

"  What  ?  Eh  ?  That's  a  dangerous  game  in 
these  times,"  another  said  eagerly,  "  with  or  without 
notice,  begannies." 

"  He's  a  great  man,  James  is." 

"  Some  day  he'll  cut  off  more  than  he  can  chew. 
Drink  ?  " 

"No.  Women.  Wants  to  marry  a  Protestant, 
or  some  foolishness  like  that." 


WAITING  245 

"  Phew  !  "  with  a  prolonged  sibilant  whistle. 
"  What  do  you  say,  Delahunty  ?  You're  sure  to 
know  all  about  it." 

"  Tell  them,  Cassidy,"  Delahunty  said  to  his 
curate. 

Cassidy's  prominent  blue  eyes  flashed.  "There's 
only  one  thing  to  be  said  about  it,"  he  said 
emphatically.  "  It's  a  damned  shame." 

"  That's  no  way  to  speak  in  the  sacristy,"  a 
severe-looking,  elderly  priest  said,  "and  of  your 
betters  too." 

"  I'd  say  it  before  the  altar,  or  to  the  bishop 
himself  if  I  got  the  chance,"  Cassidy  said  warmly. 

"  He  has  great  practice  on  me,"  Delahunty  said 
whimsically,  "  and  he's  often  right  enough  too." 

"  Wait  till  he's  a  manager  himself,  and  he'll 
change  his  tune." 

<{  When  I  am,  I  hope  managers'll  be  docked  of 
the  cruel  powers  they  have  now — taking  the  bread 
out  of  the  mouths  of  decent  men,"  Cassidy  said 
excitedly.  "  Here's  Malone,  he  can  tell  you  all 
about  it."  He  walked  frowning  to  the  window, 
muttering  in  a  loud  voice,  "  The  best  teacher  in  the 
diocese  too— written  a  book  on  the  Irish — faked-up 
nonsense  of  Marion's — all  because  he  can't  stand 
any  one  crowing  near  his  own  dung-hill — a  nice  man 
to  give  votes  for  a  bishopric  to." 

The  priests  crowded  round  Malone  as  he  came  in 
from  the  church. 

"  Tell  us  the  rights  of  this  teacher  business  ? " 

"  Is  Mahon  likely  to  get  a  fall  over  it  ? " 

"  It's  all  very  sad — very  sad,"  Father  Malone 
said  nervously.  "  I  hope  the  bishop  will  set  it  right. 
He's  seeing  Maurice  Blake  this  afternoon.  I— 

"  His  lordship  is  at  the  gate,"    Matsey  Boylan 


246  WAITING 

said    in    a    wheezing,    panting    voice,    running    in 
excitedly  from  the  yard. 

A  brougham  drove  up  to  the  sacristy  door  at  half 
trot,  Father  Mahon  alongside,  the  umbrella  aloft  in 
his  left  hand,  holding  a  firm  grip  on  the  handle  of 
the  carriage  door  with  his  right.  He  held  the 
umbrella  over  the  bishop  as  he  descended,  and  made 
as  if  to  kneel  on  the  wet  ground  on  kissing  the 
bishop's  ring,  but  Dr.  Hannigan,  with  a  deprecating 
smile  in  his  grey-brown  eyes,  said  "  Please  not," 
and  passed  rapidly  through  the  open  sacristy  door. 
The  priests  stood  to  attention  as  he  entered,  in 
attitudes  of  nervousness  or  conscious  assurance.  A 
faint  smile  played  about  the  bishop's  lips  as  he  gave 
a  quick,  keen  look  round,  taking  in  the  whole  room. 

"  Good  morning,  gentlemen,"  he  said  coldly. 

"  It's  a  wet  day  for  your  lordship  to  be  out  in," 
one  said. 

"  The  poor  children,  the  poor  children,"  he  said. 

One  took  his  hat,  another  his  coat,  a  third 
opened  the  Gladstone  bag,  with  which  Matsey 
Boylan  followed  at  his  heels.  Father  Mahon  pushed 
a  priest  aside  brusquely,  and  himself  unpacked  the 
bishop's  purple  soutane  and  rochet,  and  helped  him 
to  vest. 

After  a  silent  prayer  on  the  altar  steps,  Dr. 
Hannigan  began  the  examination  of  the  children, 
who  filled  the  nave  of  the  church.  The  aisles  and 
galleries  were  packed  with  the  older  members  of  the 
congregation.  Except  the  clergy  and  teachers,  no 
grown  people  were  in  the  nave.  The  Bourneen 
school  children  were  in  charge  of  Miss  Devoy. 

Maurice  Blake  looked  on  from  a  corner  seat  in 
one  of  the  side  galleries.  All  the  morning  he  had 
intended  to  stay  away,  but,  at  the  last  moment,  he 


WAITING  247 

decided  to  come.  "The  bishop  might  say  some- 
thing at  the  visitation  sermon,"  Driscoll  said.  As 
the  appeal  was  not  to  be  heard  till  later — the  bishop, 
after  some  correspondence,  had  fixed  three  o'clock  at 
the  parochial  house — Maurice  did  not  believe  that 
his  case  would  be  referred  to.  Still,  the  mere 
possibility  drew  him  to  the  church. 

The  examination  went  through  quickly.  The 
bishop  was  decisive  but  gracious.  He  put  three 
simple  catechism  questions  to  each  child.  If  two 
were  answered  correctly  he  handed  a  confirmation 
card  to  the  child,  who  went  off  immediately  to  con- 
fession to  one  of  the  priests,  who  were  now,  except 
a  few  who  were  in  personal  attendance  on  the 
bishop,  in  the  confessionals,  or  seated,  in  stole  and 
surplice,  in  secluded  corners  of  the  church.  If  two 
questions  were  missed  a  fourth  was  given,  and  on  the 
result  the  child  was  either  passed  or  put  back  for 
further  instruction. 

"  Mahon'd  never  pick  up  that  manner.  He  has 
the  right  touch  to  a  die,"  Father  Delahunty 
whispered  to  an  old  priest,  with  a  nod  towards  the 
bishop. 

"  I  don't  know,"  the  older  man  said,  taking  a 
pinch  of  snuff.  "As  he's  going  to  pass  them  all, 
sooner  or  later,  he  might  as  well  do  it  first  as  last." 

"  It's  easy  known,  anyway,  why  you  never  wore 
a  mitre,"  Delahunty  said  into  the  snuff-box  which 
the  old  man  held  out. 

As  each  school  was  finished  the  bishop  said  a 
few  pleasant  words  of  commendation  to  the  teachers. 

"  This  school  ?  "  he  said  to  Miss  Devoy. 

"  Bourneen,  my  lord,"  she  said  nervously. 

Father  Mahon  frowned  and  shifted  his  feet  un- 
easily, but  the  bishop  was  all  smiles. 


248  WAITING 

"  An  excellent  school,"  he  said,  in  a  slightly 
raised  voice,  when  the  last  boy  was  passed,  "  excellent 
indeed — most  carefully  prepared — reflects  the  utmost 
credit  on  the  teachers." 

Behind,  Father  Delahunty  muttered  "  Oh  ?  "  in 
the  tone  of  a  question  of  some  significance,  and 
answered  it  himself  with  "Yes,  yes,  yes."  In  the 
gallery  Hinnissey  whispered  to  Donlon,  "  That  tells 
well  in  Maurice  Blake's  favour." 

The  rejected  children  now  came  forward.  After 
a  few  perfunctory  questions  all  got  cards.  The 
bishop  retired  to  the  sacristy  with  Father  Mahon 
and  talked  with  him  alone  at  some  length. 

The  congregation  broke  up  into  groups.  Some 
whispered  in  the  seats.  The  majority,  the  weather 
having  cleared,  went  out  to  the  churchyard.  A  few 
children  still  clustered  round  a  confession  box. 
Others  scampered  to  and  fro,  between  the  church  and 
the  yard,  begged  pennies  from  grown  relatives,  and 
bought  cakes  and  sweets  and  apples  at  the  standings 
in  front  of  the  yard  gate.  Maurice  kept  his  seat. 
Several  neighbours  eyed  him  as  if  they  wished  to 
speak,  hesitated  and  turned  away.  Under  a  gallery 
a  group  of  priests  chatted  ;  half  a  dozen  walked  in  a 
row  up  and  down  the  path  from  the  porch  to  the 
gate.  Driscoll  stood  absorbed  by  the  corner  of  the 
porch,  as  if  watching  intently  the  sunlight  glistening 
on  the  wet,  yellowing  leaves. 

"  This  is  a  bad  business,  Driscoll,"  Father 
Delahunty  said,  taking  his  arm. 

Driscoll  sighed.  "  I've  talked  and  talked,"  he 
said,  "  but  it's  no  good.  And  if  Maurice  Blake'd 
yield  itself,  which  he  won't,  1  doubt  if  Father  James 
would." 

"  My  best  school'll  be  vacant  at  the  end  of  the 


WAITING  249 

quarter — Larkin  is  retiring.  I  put  it  to  Cassidy, 
and  he's  strong  for  taking  Maurice — Protestant  wife 
and  all.  But  that's  all  moonshine  and  Cassidy's 
enthusiasm.  We'd  be  beaten  dead  on  it.  I'm  too 
old  to  begin  battering  down  windmills.  Besides, 
there's  no  sense  in  putting  every  one's  head  in  a 
halter — Blake's  too.  But  short  of  the  wife  I'll  stand 
to  him,  Mahon  or  no  Mahon." 

"  Sure  I  know  you'd  do  what  you  could,  Father. 
But  what  you  can  do  is  no  good,  I'm  afeared. 
Talking  of  going  to  Dublin,  he  is,  if  the  bishop  fails 
him,  and  giving  up  schoolmastering." 

"  I  wish  to  God  there  were  more  Cassidys — 
we're  only  a  cowardly  crew — a  decent  greyhound'd 
be  ashamed  of  us,"  the  priest  mumbled  as  he  moved 
away,  whilst  Driscoll  relapsed  into  contemplation  of 
the  leaves. 

From  a  group  of  women  came  snatches  of  con- 
versation. 

"  Run  away  now,  children,  and  don't  ye  be 
listening.  Yes,  then,  there's  a  penny  between  the 
three  of  ye.  When  ye've  ate  it,  be  off  into  the 
chapel  with  ye  and  be  saying  a  prayer,  and  the  bishop 
soon  laying  a  holy  hand  on  ye."  In  a  lower  voice. 
"  If  he  was  seen  walking  with  her  itself !  a  fine 
laughey  girl,  that  took  a  cup  of  tea  on  my  own  floor, 
as  civil  as  may  be,  when  she  was  round  about  the 
hens.  You'd  think  it  was  horns  and  a  tail  she  had." 

"  'Twas  that  bleary-eyed  idiot  of  a  clerk  started 
it  all,  I'm  told." 

"  The  devil  skewer  him." 

"  Maybe  she'd  turn  yet.  She  hasn't  a  spice  of 
bigotry  in  her." 

"  She  wouldn't  be  the  first  woman  that  turned 
because  of  a  man." 


250  WAITING 

"  If  it  goes  to  that,  I'm  told  the  schools  don't 
belong  to  the  priests  at  all,  but  to  the  government  or 
some  high  up  people." 

"  Speak  low  on  that,  Mrs.  Maloney.  Jack 
warned  me  it's  a  thing  not  to  be  talked  about  freely, 
though,  in  the  next  breath,  he  said  if  the  people  was 
worth  their  salt  they'd  have  a  say  in  the  schools 
themselves." 

"Religion  is  a  queer  thing,  glory  be  to  God, 
putting  between  people." 

"  It's  a  fearsome  world  we're  living  in,  the  Lord 
between  us  and  all  harm." 

"  When  a  man  can't  choose  out  a  wife  for  him- 
self, without  losing  his  bread  by  it." 

"God  protect " 

"  And  bless  and  save  us  this  day,  amen." 

"  Did  you  see  Mary  Blake  about  it  at  all,  Mrs. 
Maloney  ?  She  could  throw  many  a  light  on  it." 

"  Amn't  I  straining  my  eyes  at  her  all  this  day  ? 
Sitting  tight  the  whole  family  are,  in  the  side  seat 
next  the  altar,  where  no  one'd  have  the  courage  to 
talk  to  them — except  the  master,  and  he's  a  touch- 
me-not  above  in  the  north  gallery." 

"  Poor  people  !  there's  trouble  on  them." 

"  If  there  is  itself  they  might  share  it  with  a 
neighbour,"  Mrs.  Maloney  said,  tossing  her  head. 

In  the  porch,  Matsey  Boylan  pulled  the  bell  rope. 
For  a  minute  he  tugged  and  writhed  without  a 
sound.  The  first  clear  stroke  lifted  him  off  his  feet 
and  he  bobbed  round  like  a  monkey.  "  Take  it 
easy,  Matsey,"  some  one  said,  as  the  congregation 
again  crowded  into  the  church.  "  Keep  clear  of  me," 
he  shouted  as  he  rose,  circled,  and  fell  a  dozen 
times,  and  then,  "  Take  hold  of  me,  and  stick  on, 
and  stop  her." 


WAITING  251 

From  the  top  step  of  the  altar,  in  cope  and  mitre, 
his  crozier  in  hand,  Dr.  Hannigan  preached  a  com- 
bined visitation  and  confirmation  sermon.  Cordial 
relations,  he  was  glad  to  say,  existed  between  the 
priests  and  people  of  the  parish — except  in  one  small 
matter  which  it  devolved  on  him  to  deal  with,  and 
which,  he  hoped,  would  be  easily  adjusted.  For  the 
rest,  there  was  abundant  evidence  of  zeal.  He  was 
glad  that  a  hint  he  threw  out  at  a  previous  visitation 
was  about  to  bear  immediate  fruit.  The  sadly  needed 
spire  was  to  be  put  in  hand  at  once.  Even  before 
a  public  appeal  had  been  made  generous  subscriptions 
had  been  forthcoming.  He  would  only  read  out 
three  as  an  example.  The  generous  parish  priest,  a 
hundred  pounds.  Mr.  Clancy,  whose  munificent 
charity  was  already  exemplified  by  the  beautiful 
stained-glass  window  at  his  back,  a  hundred  pounds. 
And  Mr.  Michael  Blake — he  paused  significantly — 
fifty  pounds.  To  the  congregation  he  would  say 
"  go  and  do  likewise,"  and  to  the  zealous  parish  priest 
"  procede  et  prospere."  Before  passing  on  to  his 
special  address  to  the  children  he  would  make  one 
other  remark — and  the  subscription  list  he  had  just 
read  proved  its  truth.  Where  religion  was  concerned, 
and  the  honour  of  God's  house,  good  Irish  Catholics, 
priests  and  laymen,  and  it  was  not  for  him  to  say 
that  they  were  the  salt  of  the  earth,  sank  all  differences, 
public  and  private,  and  were  one  in  heart  and  mind 
and  act  in  promoting  the  glory  of  God.  .  .  . 

Father  Delahunty's  face  wore  a  puzzled  frown. 
In  a  seat  near  the  sacristy  door  Father  Cassidy 
whispered  excitedly  to  Father  Malone.  Mike 
Blake's  stolid,  tanned  face  grew  a  brick  red.  His 
eyes  blinked.  "  That  was  a  queer  trick  to  play," 
Mrs.  Blake  said  under  her  breath,  her  eyes  on  the 


252  WAITING 

rosary,  which  she  held  between  her  fingers  in  her 
lap.  "  Don't  pretend  to  notice,  for  I  feel  the  eyes 
of  the  congregation  on  us."  There  was  a  whispered 
hum  all  over  the  church.  The  bishop  had  twice  to 
repeat  "  My  most  dearly  beloved  children."  Even 
then,  Hinnissey  whispered — 

"  Mike  must  have  done  it  to  buy  Maurice  out 
of  his  trouble." 

"  Connected  or  no,  I'll  never  forgive  him  for 
starting  such  a  high  tariff,"  Larry  Reardon  said. 

"  Mike,  of  his  own  option,  to  start  a  tariff,  high 
or  low  !  "  Hinnissey  said  sceptically.  "  Take  it  easy 
now,  Larry,  and  reason  it  out.  Believe  you  me, 
there's  more  in  this  than  meets  the  eye." 

But  here  the  bishop  paused  expectantly.  Behind 
his  back  Father  Mahon  gesticulated  wildly,  as  if 
beating  down  the  conversation  with  the  open  palms 
of  his  extended  hands. 

Driscoll's  eyes  met  Maurice's  with  an  inquiring 
look.  He  shook  his  head.  Throughout  the  sermon 
that  followed,  while  the  bishop  signed  the  children 
with  the  sign  of  the  cross  and  confirmed  them  with 
the  chrism  of  salvation,  the  question  kept  recurring 
to  his  mind  in  a  hundred  different  forms — Why  had 
his  father,  who  couldn't  well  afford  it,  done  this, 
and  at  this  time  ?  But  he  could  find  no  satisfactory 
answer.  On  his  way  out  of  the  church  he  met  his 
father  and  mother  and  Tom's  wife.  His  mother 
said,  "  Well,  Maurice,  boy  ?  "  Minnie  gave  him  a 
sympathetic  look,  and  hung  her  head  shyly.  His 
father  said  gruffly — 

"As  you  are  going  to  see  the  bishop,  you  might 
as  well  walk  that  bit  of  the  way  with  us." 

One  neighbour  said,  "  Good  luck  to  you." 
Another,  "  I  hope  to  God  you'll  come  out  on  top." 


WAITING  253 

No  one  tried  to  stop  them,  though  all  eyes  followed 
them  curiously.  When  they  got  beyond  the  crowd 
at  the  gate,  Mike  said — 

"  You're  wondering,  I  doubt,  about  that  money  ? 
Though  I  think  you're  a  fool  itself,  the  way 
you're  pushing  things  now,  I'd  have  you  to  know 
that  I  didn't  give  it  lately,  either  to  spite  you, 
or  to  curry  favour  for  you  with  Father  James 
neither,  in  your  foolery.  'Twas  a  foolish  enough 
investment  I  made  a  time  ago.  Wasn't  it,  Mary  ?  " 

"  It  was  then — and  maybe  not  so  foolish  either," 
Mrs.  Blake  said  hopefully. 

Maurice  said,  with  relief,  "  I'm  glad  you  told  me 
this." 

They  walked  on  in  silence.  At  the  gate  of  the 
parochial  house  Mike  said  impressively— 

"  This  is  the  last  word  I'll  say  to  you  now  you're 
going  in  to  your  doom.  Give  up  that  girl  and  all 
your  nonsense,  and  keep  the  grace  of  God,  and 
common-sense  and  the  good-will  of  the  priest  about 
you.  For  reasons  best  known  to  myself  I'm  thinking 
he'll  take  back  his  word  about  the  school  if  you  give 
in  on  the  girl.  There  isn't  a  woman  in  the  world 
worth  giving  up  all  you  have  for,  and,  mark  my 
words,  there's  as  good  fish  in  the  sea  as  ever  was 
caught."  With  this,  Mike  stalked  off  frowning. 

"  Speak  as  wisely  as  you  can,  Maurice,  agra,  to 
the  holy  man — he  has  the  look  of  a  saint  on  him, 
thanks  be  to  God.  And  I'll  be  saying  round  and 
round  of  the  beads  for  you,"  his  mother  said. 

Tom's  wife  lingered. 

"  How  are  you,  Minnie  ? "  Maurice  asked. 

"  Grand,  thank  God,"  she  said  blushing.  She 
put  out  her  hand  impulsively  and  pressed  his. 
"  Tom  and  Hanny  and  myself  are  with  you,  no 


254  WAITING 

matter  how  the  wind  blows,"  she  said  eagerly  ; 
"  and  your  mother,  I  think,  though  she  says  little 
and  has  to  be  humouring  Mike,  who's  cut  to  the 
heart  about  your  losing  the  school — you  know  how 
his  mind  runs  on  the  money.  Alice  is  worth  daring 
a  good  deal  for,"  she  added. 

Maurice  walked  on  a  few  steps  to  avoid  the 
bishop's  brougham,  which  he  saw  approaching.  As 
it  was  after  three,  in  a  few  minutes  he  followed  the 
bishop  and  Father  Mahon  into  the  parochial  house, 
and  was  shown  into  the  study.  The  bishop  was 
alone,  seated  in  an  armchair  in  front  of  the  fire, 
reading  his  breviary.  His  purple  biretta  was  well 
back  off  his  high  forehead.  The  long  tassels  of  his 
sash,  hanging  negligently  over  an  arm  of  the  chair, 
glowed  in  a  bar  of  light  that  came  through  the 
corner  of  the  window.  His  heavy  gold  chain,  the 
gold  cross  on  his  breast,  his  amethyst  ring,  and  the 
brown  hairs  on  the  backs  of  his  fingers,  sparkled  in 
the  sun.  He  looked  up  for  a  moment  as  Maurice 
entered,  gave  him  a  friendly  smile,  and  pointing  to 
an  armchair  at  the  corner  of  the  fender,  said — 

"  One  moment,  Mr.  Blake,  while  1  finish 
compline." 

He  read  for  three  or  four  minutes,  stood  up, 
knelt  for  a  few  seconds  on  his  chair,  in  silent  prayer. 
When  he  got  off  his  knees  he  held  out  his  hand  to 
Maurice,  who  had  also  risen. 

"  Do  sit  down  again,"  he  said,  as  Maurice  knelt 
and  kissed  his  ring.  "  You  don't  mind  the  fire  ?  I 
got  chilled  this  morning — this  unhappy  dispute  of 
Father  Mahon's  was  on  my  mind,  too." 

Maurice  opened  his  lips  to  speak. 

"  Not  a  word  for  a  moment,"  Dr.  Hannigan 
waved  his  hand  with  a  smile. 


WAITING  255 

He  leant  well  back  in  his  chair  and  joined  his 
hands  on  his  breast,  his  long  capable  forefingers 
pointed  upwards. 

"  I  want  you  to  feel — I'm  sure  you  feel — that  in 
this  matter  I'm  no  mere  judge.  All  my  people  are 
dear  to  me — my  teachers  are  especially  dear.  I  want 
you  to  feel  that  I  am  a  father  and  a  friend  rather  than 
a  judge.  Indeed,  the  law  of  the  land  does  not 
recognize  me  as  a  judge  in  disputes  of  this  kind — 
the  manager  is  supreme.  But  a  higher  law,  the 
law  of  charity,  constrained  my  brother  bishops  and 
myself  to  arrogate — some  would  say,"  he  smiled 
deprecatingly — "  this  function  to  ourselves.  In  a 
well-ordered  state  education  would  be  entirely  in  the 
hands  of — of  the  hierarchy.  Unhappily — but  why 
dwell  on  that  ?  The  law  gives  the  manager  large 
discretionary  power.  But  the  divine  economy  gives 
me  the  right,  no  matter  what  the  law  says,  of 
counselling  and  advising  and "-  —he  hesitated  and 
smiled — "  of  counselling  and  advising  our  clerical 
managers.  But  this  is  a  long  preamble.  Among 
friends  there  is  no  need  to  speak  of  powers  and 
rights."  He  bent  his  great  eyes  towards  Maurice 
appealingly.  "Two  of  my  children  have  a  mis- 
understanding, two  of  my  helpers  in  the  training 
of  our  Catholic  youth — how  zealous  they  are  the 
examination  in  the  church  to-day  proved  ;  your 
school,  if  I  may  say  so  without  flattery,  in  particular. 
Naturally  they  come  to  me  to  help  them  in  their 
difficulty."  He  paused  and  gazed  at  the  fire. 

The  smooth,  level  tone  of  the  bishop's  voice  and 
his  composed  features  disturbed  Maurice.  If  there 
was  one  thing  he  hated  above  all  others,  it  was  the 
power  of  the  priests  and  bishops  over  education,  and 
the  way  in  which  it  was  exercised.  He  had  often 


256  WAITING 

discussed  it  bitterly  with  Driscoll  and  other  teachers. 
He  disliked  intensely  much  of  what  the  bishop  said. 
But  Dr.  Hannigan's  manner  was  disarming.  The 
slight  harshness  in  his  voice  had  a  ring  of  friendli- 
ness, and  his  eyes  were  soft  and  kind.  Perhaps 
he  was  different  from  others  !  His  effusive  speech 
might  be  only  a  mannerism.  Maurice  looked  again 
at  the  ivory  forehead,  and  let  his  eyes  wander  over 
the  face,  pallid  and  regular,  the  eyes  a  shade  close 
together.  It  was  a  kind  face,  he  decided  doubtfully 
— on  the  whole,  he  qualified  his  judgment,  on 
noticing  for  the  first  time  a  slight  stricture  of  the 
lips  which  brought  out  their  thinness,  revealed  a 
few  tight  lines  at  the  corners  and  hardened  a  rather 
prominent  chin.  As  he  looked  the  face  softened, 
and  Dr.  Hannigan  began  to  speak  again. 

"  I  read  over  your  statement  carefully — and  I 
have  heard  Father  Mahon.  Let  me  say  at  once  that  I 
acquit  you  of  the  moral  charge.  The  evidence  was 
negligible.  A  slight  indiscretion  on  your  part ;  a 
little  over-zeal  on  his — the  whole  thing  vanishes  in 
a  puff  of  smoke.  Though  for  the  future  I  should 
advise  care.  The  noble  teaching  profession  has  a 
great  responsibility — to  ward  off  from  innocence  the 
very  shadow  of  sin." 

Maurice's  brow  contracted. 

"  I  am  finding  no  fault  with  you,"  the  bishop 
said  quickly.  "A  counsel  of  perfection,  merely. 
Though  this  is  the  first  time  I've  met  you  I've 
heard  of  you  a  good  deal.  There  were  a  few  minor 
charges,"  he  added  thoughtfully,  "  disobedience, 
faults  of  manner  and  of  temper."  He  sighed. 
"  To  these  we  are  all  subject.  Human  nature  is 
weak.  Cumulatively  they  have  some  force — singly 
1  make  light  of  them,  except,  perhaps,  the  disobeying 


WAITING  257 

of  written  orders  once — I  forget  in  regard  to  what 
— some  meeting  ?  I  have  the  papers  here,  but  it 
does  not  matter." 

Maurice  envied  his  fluency  of  speech.  He  felt 
strangled,  as  if  a  soft  silken  cord  was  being  wound 
tightly  round  him,  depriving  him  of  thought  and 
words. 

"  He  had  no  power  to  give  that  order,"  he 
blurted  out  roughly.  The  contrast  between  his  own 
voice  and  the  bishop's  made  him  ashamed  as  soon  as 
he  had  spoken. 

"  Power,"  the  bishop  said  reproachfully.  "  I 
thought  we  agreed  to  eliminate  that  word  ?  Powers 
and  rights  surely  need  not  be  mentioned  between 
a  good  Catholic  and  his  parish  priest.  Ah,  Mr. 
Blake,  we  are  living  in  difficult  times,  when  it 
behoves  us  all  to  pull  together — even  by  yielding  a 
little.  I  myself  have  to  submit  my  will  often  to  my 
brother  bishops,  often  to  higher  powers.  It  brings 
home  to  me  my  unworthiness,  and  gives  me  a  much- 
needed  lesson  in  humility.  Our  Holy  Church  and 
our  holy  faith  ought  to  be  above  all  !  Such 
artificial  secular  distinctions  as  manager  and  teacher 
ought  to  be  forgotten  in  our  common  obligation  of 
working  together  as  good  soldiers  of  Christ." 

"  Father  Mahon  did  not  forget  them,"  Maurice 
said  dryly. 

"  You  are  still  bruised  in  spirit — a  little  in 
temper  perhaps.  Poor  fellow  !  1  can  well  under- 
stand it.  But  are  you  fair  to  Father  Mahon  ?  He 
was,  I  feel  sure,  thinking  of  higher  things,  things  of 
God,  of  the  spirit,  of  the  soul — of  your  soul." 

The  memory  of  his  interview  with  Father  Mahon 
came  back  to  Maurice.  He  looked  at  the  bishop 
keenly — that  calm  face  could  not  be  the  cause  of  the 

s 


258  WAITING 

anger  that  filled  him  to  his  finger-tips.  He  gave  a 
short  uncomprehending  laugh. 

The  bishop's  eyebrows  lifted  almost  imperceptibly 
for  a  moment. 

"  The  marriage  you  proposed  ? "  he  said  gently. 

"  He  had  made  up  his  mind  before  he  heard  of 
the  marriage." 

The  bishop's  lips  tightened.  But  his  eyes  smiled 
as  he  said — 

"  This  is  not  a  civil  court,  Mr.  Blake — nor  a 
court  at  all  indeed,  only  a  friendly  conversation.  If 
Father  Mahon  were  a  mere  secular  manager  this 
marriage  might  not  be  relevant.  But  what  do  we 
find  ?  Try  and  put  yourself  in  his  place,  Mr.  Blake 
— a  zealous  priest  charged  with  safeguarding  the 
religion  of  his  people,  of  the  little  children  in  his 
schools,  and  above  all,  of  his  teachers — for  on  them 
devolves  the  instruction  of  the  children." 

"  He  dismissed  me  from  a  secular,  undenomina- 
tional school,  not  for  any  lack  of  fitness  or  qualifica- 
tion, but  because  I  asked  for  a  dispensation  to  marry 
a  Protestant,"  Maurice  said  coldly. 

A  slight  frown,  faint  as  the  shadow  of  a  tiny 
passing  cloud  on  a  field  of  corn  waving  in  the  sun- 
light, moved  rapidly  over  the  bishop's  face  and  seemed 
to  run  down  his  soutane  to  his  feet,  as  if  in  physical 
protest  against  the  crudity  of  Maurice's  statement. 

"  Secular  ?  undenominational  ?  "  he  said  with  a 
smile.  "  Surely  these  are  only  legal  fictions  ? " 

"  Unfortunately,  my  lord." 

The  bishop  seemed  to  bite  the  inside  of  his  lip. 
He  gazed  thoughtfully  at  the  fire.  When  he  spoke 
again  he  had  shifted  his  ground. 

"  Do  you  prefer  this — this  young  lady  to  your 
religion  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 


WAITING  259 

Maurice    blushed,    hesitated,    and     then     said 
shortly. 

"  I  don't  see  that  they  conflict." 
"  It  is  no  fault  of  yours,  of  course,"  the  bishop 
said  sadly,  "  that  you  are  not  well  grounded  in  the 
philosophy  and  theology  of  our  religion.  When  a 
Catholic  marries  a  Protestant  there  is  necessarily,  at 
the  very  least,  a  certain  amount  of  toleration  of 
heresy.  Now  we  may  tolerate  heresy  from  motives 
of  expediency — the  difficulty  of  doing  otherwise,  the 
greater  good  of  the  Church,  and  other  reasons — 
but  the  toleration  that  marriage  involves,  no  matter 
how  strictly  the  Church  hedges  it  round  with  precau- 
tions  "  he  shook  his  head  several  times.  "Believe 

me,  Mr.  Blake — and  this  is  why  our  Holy  Church 
discourages  mixed  marriages — it  saps  the  very  bases 
of  morality  and  religion.  Come,  now,"  with  an 
appealing  look,  "  love  is  here  to-day  and  away — who 
knows  ? — to-morrow.  Like  a  good  Catholic  make 
a  willing  sacrifice  of  the  temporal  to  the  eternal — 1 
hear  the  priests  coming  in  to  dinner,  and  they  have 
had  a  hard  day.  We  must  hurry.  Make  this 
sacrifice  on  the  altar  of  your  faith — it  may  be  hard, 
but  your  reward  will  be  the  greater.  A  teacher  in 
a  Catholic  school !  for  it  is  that,  no  matter  what  the 
law  pretends.  You  surely  see  now  that  it  is  im- 
possible that  Father  Mahon  could  allow  you  to  marry 
out  of  the  faith.  With  his  passionate  attachment  to 
the  Church  too  !  Have  sense,  and  your  good  priest 
will  forgive  you.  Give  up  this  idea,  and — I  shall 
make  it  all  right  with  Father  Mahon — go  back  to 
your  school.  Some  day,  when  this  madness  has 
passed,  you  will  see  in  him  your  best  friend." 

A  feeling  of  intense  weariness  overcame  Maurice 
at  the  beginning  of  the  bishop's  long  exhortation. 


260  WAITING 

Words,  words,  words  battered  his  confused  brain. 
He  watched  the  brown  eyes,  soft  and  gentle.  A 
few  times  the  grey  showed  hard  and  steely.  So  the 
bishop  too,  with  all  his  soft  words,  was  trying  to 
separate  him  from  himself — for  Alice  was  himself. 
His  muscles  stiffened  and  he  sat  alert  in  his  chair. 
At  the  last  reference  to  Father  Mahon  he  laughed 
harshly. 

Dr.  Hannigan  frowned.  The  grey  in  his  eyes 
predominated  as  he  looked  questioningly  at  Maurice. 
There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  He  said  "  Come 
in  "  sharply. 

The  servant  curtseyed  and  said  timidly,  "  Your 
lordship,  his  reverence  told  me  to  say  the  priests 
were  gathered  and  the  dinner  ready  to  be  dished, 
and  would  you  be  long,  my  lord  ? " 

"  Tell  them  wait,"  he  said  curtly. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  said,  when  she  had  shut  the  door 
behind  her. 

"  I'll  give  up  the  school  rather  than  give  her  up." 

A  slight  flush  appeared  on  the  bishop's  neck 
under  his  ears.  His  face  was  calm  but  it  became 
sharper  in  outline. 

"  And  your  religion  ?  " 

Maurice  laughed  and  said,  "  Really  ?  my  lord." 

The  bishop  looked  at  him  sternly.  "  There 
seems  to  be  nothing  more,"  he  said  dryly. 

"  The  dispensation  ?  " 

"  That,  you  apply  for  through  Father  Mahon." 
He  took  his  breviary  off  the  arm  of  the  chair  and 
made  a  movement  as  if  to  stand  up.  Maurice  rose. 

"  But  he  referred  me  to  your  lordship." 

"  I'm  afraid  I   can  do  nothing,"  he  pursed  his 
lips.     "  You  might  apply  direct  to  Rome." 
"Am  1  likely  to  get  it  there  ?" 


WAITING  261 

The  bishop  considered  this  gravely.  "Frankly, 
no — taking  into  account  Father  Mahon's  attitude, 
and  the  absence,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  of  the  canonical 
causes  for  dispensing." 

"  Good-bye,  my  lord,  and  thank  you." 

"  Good-bye,"  the  bishop  said  coldly. 

"  Am  I  dismissed  then  ?  "  Maurice  asked,  turning 
at  the  door. 

"  I  don't  see  that  I  can  interfere.  Stay — just  a 
minute."  His  eyes  sought  inspiration  in  the  carpet. 
"  Yes — I  might  get  Father  Mahon  to  withdraw  the 
dismissal  and  accept  your  resignation — if  you  tender 
it  suitably.  It  might  help  you  to  another  school — 
in  some  other  diocese." 

"  Should  I  get  the  dispensation  there  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  not,"  Dr.  Hannigan  said  irritably. 

"  I'd  rather  be  dismissed,"  Maurice  said  firmly. 

"  Does  that  mean  that  you  will  take  the  case  into 
a  civil  court  ?  "  Dr.  Hannigan  said  suspiciously  as 
he  rose. 

"No." 

Maurice  was  again  putting  out  his  hand  for  the 
door  handle,  when  the  bishop  laid  a  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  and  with  a  return  to  his  gracious  manner 
said — 

"  I  shall  pray  for  you.  I  am  told  that  there  are 
good  openings  for  talented  young  men  in  America 
or  the  colonies." 

"  Or  in  Timbuctoo,"  Maurice  said  under  his 
breath,  smiling  pleasantly  in  response  to  the  bishop's 
"  God  bless  you." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THERE  was  much  excitement  in  the  parish  during 
the  time  Maurice  remained  in  Bourneen.  Two  days 
after  he  saw  the  bishop  Alice  went  back  to  Dublin. 
He  was  glad  she  was  out  of  hearing  of  all  the 
gossip.  In  every  house  "  the  row  "  was  discussed, 
wildly  and  imaginatively,  for  the  actual  details  were 
known  only  to  a  few.  It  was  generally  agreed  that 
Maurice  was  a  "  wronged  man,"  though  there  was 
some  doubtful  shaking  of  heads.  Father  Malone 
drove  hopefully  to  Liscannow  to  interview  the 
bishop,  and  came  back  despondent.  Hinnissey 
spoke  of  resolutions  of  sympathy  from  the  League, 
but  Father  Mahon,  who  was  honorary  president, 
attended  the  meeting  called  for  the  purpose,  and 
nothing  was  done.  Mike  Blake  blustered  a  good 
deal  to  his  wife,  lamented  his  fifty  pounds  as  thrown 
into  a  bog-hole,  blamed  Maurice,  dressed  half  a 
dozen  times  in  his  Sunday  clothes  for  a  visit  to  the 
parochial  house  ;  but,  always,  his  courage  failed,  and 
he  laid  them  aside  without  going.  "  After  all,  I  did 
give  the  money  for  the  spire,"  he  explained  to  his 
wife,  "  and  I'd  be  only  coming  back  with  my  tail 
between  my  legs."  She  paid  a  daily  visit  to  the 
chapel  and  burnt  many  candles  in  front  of  the  statue 
of  St.  Antony,  entreating  him  to  find  her  son  a  school, 
"  or  to  comfort  his  heart  anyway."  At  a  bank 
meeting  a  fisherman  from  the  Strand  called  loudly 


WAITING  263 

for  a  declaration  in  favour  of  Maurice  ;  but  the 
chairman  reluctantly  ruled  the  discussion  out  of 
order,  as  being  "  on  the  mearing  of  religion,"  and, 
therefore,  forbidden  by  the  rules.  John  Crawford's 
only  contribution  was  a  remark,  thrown  out  occasion- 
ally between  two  long  tracts  of  silence  as  he  sat 
smoking  before  the  fire  at  night,  "  There's  nothing 
I'd  put  beyond  a  priest — not  all  of  them,  but  most." 
Tom  Blake  was  roused  to  fury.  He  had  arranged 
for  the  barricading  of  the  school  against  the  new 
teacher,  when  Maurice  heard  of  the  scheme,  and, 
with  much  difficulty,  dissuaded  him  from  it.  Many 
murmured  against  clerical  control  of  the  schools. 
A  dozen  children  were  withdrawn  by  their  parents 
from  Bourneen,  sent  to  the  Strand  school  and  to 
Drusheen,  beyond  the  bog.  Father  Mahon,  when 
he  heard  this,  drove  to  both  schools,  to  the 
Strand  in  the  morning  and  to  Drusheen  in  the 
afternoon  of  the  same  day,  and  herded  the  children 
back  to  Bourneen  at  the  point  of  the  whip.  The 
Government  Inspector  of  Schools  shook  his  head 
angrily  at  the  tale  of  Maurice's  dismissal,  mut- 
tered "  those  managers,  those  managers,"  and  later, 
dined  amicably  with  Father  Mahon.  Teachers,  for 
miles  around,  visited  Maurice  in  the  night  and 
counselled  resistance,  with  apologies  for  the  inaction 
of  their  local  organization.  "  You  know  how  it  is," 
seemed  to  most  of  them  to  be  both  excuse  and 
explanation.  One  was  more  explicit  :  "  If  we  say  a 
word  in  public,  out  we  may  go  ;  but  you — you  can't 
be  in  much  worse  case  than  you  are.  Though  we're 
weighed  down  with  charges  of  one  kind  and  another, 
as  far  as  a  trifle  goes  towards  expenses — in  private, 
you  understand  ? — you  could  count  on  us.  And 
Driscoll  within" — he  was  ill  in  bed  with  arthritis 


264  WAITING 

since  the  day  of  the  confirmation — "  could  help 
openly.  He's  on  a  pension  and  clear  of  a  manager. 
It'd  be  a  great  chance  of  showing  things  up." 

But  Maurice  was  not  in  the  mood  to  show  things 
up.  Perhaps  he  felt  queer,  he  thought,  because 
Alice  had  gone,  or  because  Driscoll  was  ill.  He 

O  ' 

was  seeing  things  differently  too,  noticing  things 
that  escaped  him  before,  seeing  himself,  even,  in 
a  curiously  detached,  impersonal  way — mere  little 
flashes  that  were  contradictory,  or  vanished  when 
he  tried  to  analyse  them.  As  when  he  saw  himself 
a  spar  of  wreckage  cast  up  on  the  beach,  and,  the 
next  moment,  riding  the  waves  triumphantly,  with  a 
firm  foothold  on  the  same  spar.  The  teacher's 
words  recalled  this  image.  It  explained  so  much 
that  had  been  puzzling  him  in  the  attitude  of 
people.  He  was  a  broken  man,  useful  for  leading 
some  sort  of  forlorn  hope,  but  broken.  It  showed 
clearly  behind  all  Father  Malone's  nervous  sympathy, 
in  his  mother's  despondent  prayers,  in  his  father's 
grumbling,  in  the  almost  despairing  look  that  he  some- 
times surprised  in  Driscoll's  eyes  when  he  thought 
he  was  unobserved.  Surely  they  were  all  wrong, 
and  Alice  was  right.  He  saw  her  again  as  the  train 
bore  her  away  from  Liscannow  Station,  her  look  of 
infinite  hope  and  faith,  and  her  last  words,  "  You  are 
a  free  man  now." 

When  he  reasoned  his  position  out,  and  thought 
of  the  future,  the  fears  of  his  friends  depressed  him. 
But  not  for  long.  Alice's  faith  and  some  feeling 
that  was  deep  down  in  his  own  heart  came  to  his 
rescue.  Suddenly  the  conviction  seized  him,  that  it 
was  he  who  was  free,  and  they  who  were  in  bond. 
They  bowed  down  under  a  fear  from  which  he  had 
freed  himself.  One  day  he  met  Teigue  Donlon,  on 


WAITING  265 

the  road  near  his  house.  Teigue  pressed  his  hand 
warmly  and  said,  "  The  feeling  of  the  people  is  with 
you."  Father  Mahon  approached  in  his  trap.  Teigue 
slunk  off  up  the  boreen.  Maurice  met  the  priest's 
scowling  face  with  a  smile.  He  felt  stronger  as  he 
walked  on.  Once  he,  too,  should  have  been  afraid 
...  as  an  unbroken  man  he  often  had  the  timidity 
of  a  mouse  ...  as  a  broken  man  he  had  the  courage 
of  a  giant  refreshed.  ... 

Tom  was  his  great  comfort  in  those  days.  Tom 
had  no  fear  of  anything  but  Minnie's  coming  mother- 
hood, and  that  fear  was  only  momentary,  and  faded 
away  in  the  larger  hope  of  safety,  and  a  son. 

"  You  have  two  strong  arms  on  you,"  he  said, 
"  and  you're  sure  to  find  work.  You're  out  of  the 
swing  now,  but  you'll  get  into  it  again.  Alice  is  a 
kind  of  smothering  now — I  know  it  all — but  soon 
she'll  be  like  another  arm  or  another  lung — as 
natural  as  the  day,  and  a  help  and  not  a  hindrance. 
You'll  want  to  be  doing  things  again,  and  more  of 
them.  Have  a  drive  at  politics  now — there's  an 
opening.  It  ought  to  come  easy  to  a  fellow  like  you 
that  has  things  printed  in  the  papers — though  the 
same  papers  ! " 

He  shook  his  head  gloomily.  "  But  the  country'll 
right  itself.  It's  sick,  very  sick,  but  it  has  the 
seeds  of  health  in  it.  The  Star  of  Liberty  now,  that 
your  little  stories — they're  not  bad  in  their  way- 
come  out  in.  Between  you  and  me  it's  damn  rotten. 
If  you  could  only  get  writing  something  near  the 
truth  in  that  paper  now,  you  might  do  a  great  deal 
of  good.  ..." 

"  Oh  yes,  we're  doing  things  all  right — mucking 
about,"  he  said  again.  "It's  all  to  the  good.  The 
country  is  getting  richer  and  we're  learning  the  Irish. 


266  WAITING 

But  a  man  wants  to  be  able  to  say  out  what  he  thinks. 
There  are  a  lot  of  fellows  thinking  the  same  as  me. 
Take  your  own  case  now.  Sacked  from  your  job 
without  rhyme  or  reason,  and  the  whole  country 
afraid  to  open  their  lips  about  it.  And  if  there  was 
a  word  said,  your  blessed  Star  of  Liberty' &  stand  by 
Father  James  to-morrow.  No  wonder  the  Pro- 
testants'd  be  afraid  of  Home  Rule.  Not  but  they're 
wrong  entirely,  though  it's  hard  to  make  'em  see  it, 
and  the  things  they  see  happening  round  them.  I'm 
not  agin  priests,  mind  you.  They  baptized  me  and 
married  me  and  I  hope  they'll  bury  me.  It  does  me 
a  power  of  good  to  go  to  a  mass  that  Father  Malone 
says.  He's  one  of  the  kind  of  priests  we  want — 
though  I  wish  in  a  way  he  had  more  pluck — priests 
that  you'll  be  able  to  see  religion  and  not  the  tyrant 
in  everything  they  say  and  do,  and  not  slim  ones 
either  like  the  bishop  that  was  here  the  other  day. 
I  stood  at  the  back  of  the  chapel  for  a  minute 
listening  to  him.  Did  you  hear  him  about  my 
father's  subscription  ?  It  near  made  me  sick.  How 
they  ever  worked  it  out  of  him  passes  me.  He's 
as  deaf  as  a  post  when  I  ask  him  about  it." 

Then  his  optimism  would  take  hold  of  him  again. 
"  If  only  once  we  could  get  Home  Rule  every thing'd 
be  right.  The  schools'd  be  taken  out  of  the  hands 
of  the  Father  Mahons.  There'd  be  no  more 
breeding  of  bad  will  between  Protestants  and 
Catholics.  No  man'd  be  down  on  another  because 
of  a  difference  of  religion.  If  you  could  do  some- 
thing to  bring  this  about,"  he  said  with  shining  eyes, 
"you'd  be  doing  the  best  work  a  man  could  set  his 
hand  to.  I  haven't  the  education,"  he  added  sadly, 
"  only  what  Driscoll  gave  me — far  be  it  from  me  to 
belittle  it,  for  he  put  many  a  good  thought  into  my 


WAITING  267 

head.  But  you  know  a  power  from  all  you  read,  and 
the  College  and  the  like.  You'll  be  up  in  Dublin 
doing  great  things,  and  maybe  I'll  be  plodding  away 
down  here.  Who  knows,"  he  wound  up  wistfully, 
"  what  we  mightn't  do  between  us,  big  and 
small  ? " 

Maurice  thought  it  all  over  at  night  while 
Driscoll  slept.  What  could  he  do  ?  Tom  thought 
him  so  learned,  and  he  was  so  ignorant.  All  those 
men  who  worked  on  newspapers  knew  Latin  and 
Greek  and  thousands  of  things,  that  he  had  hardly 
heard  of.  The  Star  of  Liberty  itself  often  gave  a  Latin 
quotation  not  to  be  found  at  the  end  of  Nuttall's 
English  Dictionary — the  only  Latin,  except  the  list 
of  roots  in  the  spelling-book,  that  he  knew.  But  he 
knew  Irish,  and  he  knew  something  of  what  people 
were  doing  and  thinking  in  the  country.  He  already 
had  his  column  in  The  Star.  A  pound  a  week  was 
a  great  thing.  But  there  was  Alice  ?  Calculation 
of  the  cost  of  living  pushed  aside  his  ideals  for  the 
moment.  That  pound  wasn't  a  certainty  either. 
Fortunately  he  had  some  of  his  salary  of  the  last  two 
years.  He  had  put  it  by  to  pay  Driscoll  for  a  share 
in  the  expenses  of  the  cottage.  But  Driscoll  had 
always  refused  it.  He  felt  so  hurt  the  last  time  it 
was  offered,  that  Maurice  promised  not  to  speak  of 
it  again.  It  was  nearly  eighty  pounds — a  small 
fortune,  he  thought  cheerfully  for  a  moment.  He 
calculated  again,  with  pencil  and  paper,  and  sighed. 
He  leant  his  arms  on  the  table  and  stared  at  the 
glow  of  the  firelight  on  the  lustre  jugs  on  the 
dresser.  After  all,  The  Star  might  solve  everything. 
The  editor  had  written  him  flattering  letters.  Perhaps 
he  would  give  him  more  work  ? 

In  this   nebulous  state  of  mind  as  to  his  future 


268  WAITING 

Maurice  set  out  for  Dublin.  One  morning  early, 
while  yet  the  sun  struggled  with  a  thin  autumn  haze 
he  drove  with  Driscoll,  on  one  of  Clancy's  side-cars, 
to  catch  the  first  train  from  Liscannow.  His  tin 
trunk  and  two  boxes  of  books  were  on  ahead,  in  a 
cart  driven  by  Tom. 

"  Wrap  the  rug  well  round  you,"  Driscoll  said, 
and  fell  into  a  doze. 

They  sat  together  on  one  side  of  the  car,  the 
driver  on  the  other.  Driscojl,  though  very  ill,  had 
insisted  on  coming.  His  peaked,  livid  face,  as  he 
sat  huddled  up  in  the  back  of  the  seat,  was  the  worst 
blow  of  a  hard  parting.  All  the  more  because,  for 
the  last  few  days,  he  had  tried  to  be  cheerful.  His 
hearty  laugh  became  forced,  and  deepened  the  lines 
about  the  corners  of  his  lips.  "  All  is  for  the  best," 
became  a  refrain,  that  cut  Maurice  like  a  whip  every 
time  he  heard  it.  If  only  the  old  man  had  blamed 
him  it  would  have  been  easier  to  leave.  Milk  carts 
passed,  with  a  rattle  of  tins,  on  the  way  to  the 
creamery,  the  drivers  calling,  "  God  speed  you,"  or 
"  Good  luck  to  you."  Men,  early  afield,  digging 
potatoes,  waved  a  hand  or  a  spade  or  a  hat.  A 
collie  of  Teigue  Donlon's  followed  the  car,  wagging 
his  tail,  for  a  hundred  yards.  Slieve  Mor  pushed  its 
massive  outline  through  the  haze  now  shot  with 
colour.  The  heavy  rime  on  the  leafless  trees  began 
to  sparkle.  The  old  mill  wheel,  green  with  slime,  a 
gate,  a  stream,  a  stunted  tree,  smoke  rising,  in  a 
snaky  whorl,  from  a  gable  on  which  he  had  played 
handball  as  a  boy — all  had  some  association  that 
made  the  drive  more  bitter  for  Maurice  than  the 
good-byes  of  last  night. 

All  Driscoll  said  on  the  platform  was  "  You  have 
a  home  with  me  whenever  you  want  it." 


WAITING  269 

The  memory  of  him,  leaning  heavily  on  Tom's 
arm,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  receding  train,  remained 
with  Maurice  throughout  the  journey.  He  longed 
to  be  back  again  at  the  school,  watching  Driscoll 
give  the  open-air  lesson  in  the  garden,  with  the 
fishermen  on  the  shore,  at  the  Irish  class,  listen- 
ing to  Jim  Mescall's  fiddle.  Yet  it  was  Driscoll 
himself  who  had  said  :  "You  don't  fit  in  here  any 
more — you'd  best  to  go," — and  Alice  would  be  at 
Kingsbridge  station  awaiting  him.  .  .  . 

She  wanted  to  know  all  about  Driscoll.  "  Who  is 
to  look  after  him  ? "  "  Hanny  will  go  down  every 
day — and  there's  Bessy  Reilly." 

"  That  is  something  ;  I  must  write  to  her.  And 
you  must  write  to  him  often.  Your  heavy  things 
must  go  by  the  carrier  ;  we  must  be  economical,  so 
we  can't  afford  a  cab.  I've  found  the  very  room  for 
you — between  Fairview  and  Drumcondra — a  bed- 
sitting-room — and  not  far  from  us.  Mother  wants 
you  to  come  straight  to  us  and  have  some  food — 
you  must  be  famished  ;  but  we'll  take  in  your 
place  on  the  way.  Eight  shillings  a  week— it's  the 
cheapest  I  could  get  of  the  kind.  Coals  are  extra, 
but  you'll  only  pay  for  what  you  use.  The  great 
thing  is  that  I  know  Mrs.  Reed — she'll  look  after 
you  well." 

She  said  this  in  snatches  as  he  arranged  about 
his  luggage.  They  took  the  tram  along  the  quay  to 
O'Connell  Bridge.  Though  he  had  to  carry  a  heavy 
bag  they  walked  to  the  Pillar.  "  Twopence  saved 
— we'll  want  it  more  than  the  tram  company." 

"You're  in  a  managing  mood,"  he  said  grimly, 
as  they  stood  waiting  for  the  tram. 

"  I  am,"  she  said  demurely.  "  I  proposed  to 
you,  you  know.  1 "  She  blushed  crimson. 


270  WAITING 

"  I  hope  you'll  like  my  mother,"  she  said  incon  - 
sequently. 

She  was  silent  until  they  arrived  at  Mrs.  Reed's 
door.  He  hardly  noticed  that  she  did  not  speak. 
It  was  enough  that  she  was  near  him.  He  looked 
often  out  of  the  window  at  the  half-familiar  streets, 
but  it  was  more  to  catch  the  line  of  her  face  under 
her  fur  toque. 

He  liked  the  house,  and  Mrs.  Reed,  and  his 
room.  It  was  an  old  ramshackle  cottage,  with  a 
wooden  porch  that  might  have  come  from  Bourneen. 
So  might  Mrs.  Reed,  with  her  ample  waist  and 
florid  untownlike  face.  She  came  from  Drimna,  she 
told  him  in  a  few  minutes,  "  and  though  it's  near 
forty  years  ago  I  never  took  to  city  ways.  And 
what's  more,  I  can't  abide  their  eggs."  The  room 
was  large  and  clean,  with  windows  back  and  front 
"  that  keep  out  the  rain,"  Mrs.  Reed  said,  "  but — I 
wouldn't  be  telling  a  lie  about  it — not  always  the 
draught.  But  sorra  bit  you'll  feel  that,  if  you  only 
pull  the  curtains."  Strips  of  carpet  were  in  front  of 
the  bed,  the  fireplace,  and  the  dressing-table.  A 
table  and  chair  filled  in  the  space  between  the  head 
of  the  narrow  iron  bedstead  and  the  wall.  "  Hearing 
you  were  a  writing  gentleman  I  put  it  there  to  keep 
you  out  of  the  wind,"  Mrs.  Reed  said.  She  looked 
him  over.  "  You  have  the  air  of  the  country  about 
you,  like  myself,"  she  said  confidentially.  "  I  can't 
stand  people  with  town  airs  on  them,  so  I  think  we'll 
suit  each  other  well.  And  if  you  care  for  a  fresh  egg 
with  your  breakfast,  I  have  them  of  my  own  laying 
— you  can  hear  a  hen  clucking  in  the  yard  this 
minute." 

As  they  walked  across  to  Drumcondra,  Alice 
said,  "  I  thought  you'd  feel  more  at  home  there." 


WAITING  271 

The  little  one-storied  cottage,  off  the  high-road 
beyond  Drumcondra,  to  which  she  took  him  was  not 
unlike  Mrs.  Reed's.  But  paint  and  whitewash  did 
much  to  conceal  dilapidation.  The  roof  of  small 
slates,  from  constant  patching  with  mortar,  was 
almost  as  white  as  the  walls.  Mrs.  Barton  opened 
the  door  and  welcomed  Maurice  quietly.  He 
followed  her  with  his  eyes  as  she  moved  about,  with 
Alice,  preparing  high  tea.  And  sometimes,  when 
he  had  looked  away  for  a  moment  and  sought  her 
again,  he  found  her  eyes  fixed  on  him  inquiringly. 
Her  black  dress,  her  brown  hair  with  streaks  of  grey 
in  it,  parted  in  the  middle  and  worn  flat,  her  calm 
forehead,  her  eyes  that  seemed  of  great  depth 
because  of  shadows  under  the  lids,  were  out  of 
keeping  with  the  tawdry  bamboo  furniture.  He 
was  puzzled  by  something  familiar  in  her.  He 
imagined  her  in  John  Crawford's  kitchen,  a  softer 
suggestion  of  John,  where  she  seemed  more  at  home. 
It  was  then  he  recognized  that  she  was  Alice  grown 
older,  and  somehow  it  made  him  glad. 

During  tea,  if  the  conversation  wandered  from 
Bourneen,  she  always  brought  it  back  with  "  the 
threshing  now  ?  Do  they  still  make  a  great  night  of 
it  ?  "  or  "  Do  the  hurts  grow  as  well  as  they  used  to 
bylthe  Reardons'  big  dyke  ?"  And  always  a  little  wist- 
fully. After  tea,  when  Alice  had  gone  to  the  kitchen 
to  wash  up,  she  put  her  hand  on  Maurice's,  and  said 
timidly,  "  I'm  glad."  She  hesitated,  kissed  him  on 
the  forehead,  and  talked  of  her  poultry.  After- 
wards she  went  out  "  to  see  to  the  fowl,"  she  said, 
and  left  them  alone.  The  room  was  dark  in  the 
twilight.  Alice  poked  the  fire.  The  flame  lit  up  her 
face  and  played  on  the  bright  polish  of  the  furniture. 
"  Shall  I  light "  she  said,  looking  at  him. 


272  WAITING 

Their  lips  met.  Her  head  rested  on  his  shoulder 
and  her  hair  nestled  against  his  chin.  They  sat 
in  front  of  the  fire,  and  he  told  her  what  he 
saw  in  her  eyes  and  hair,  and  in  the  dimples  in 
her  cheeks.  She  watched  the  fire  with  her  lips 
slightly  parted. 

"  It's  very  foolish,"  she  said,  "  but  say  more 
of  it." 

Mrs.  Barton  brought  in  a  lamp  and  sat  with 
them,  talking  of  Bourneen  till  there  was  a  loud  knock 
at  the  front  door. 

"  Your  father,"  she  said  guiltily  to  Alice,  "  and 
his  supper  not  ready." 

She  disappeared  to  the  kitchen,  while  Alice 
opened  the  door. 

"  Of  course,  of  course.  I'll  take  him  as  mildly 
as  a  kitten,"  Maurice  heard,  in  a  boisterous  voice, 
and  wished  that  he  could  withdraw  through  the 
window. 

"  Where's  this  villain  that  wants  to  rifle  the 
nest  ? — not  bad,  eh  ?  but  the  wife  keeps  poultry,  you 
see,"  Mr.  Barton  shouted  as  he  entered.  "  Hullo, 
my  fine  fellow  !  "  He  crushed  Maurice's  hand  in  a 
big  palm  and  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder  with  the 
other  hand.  "  Supper  not  ready  !  this  is  nice 
doings." 

Alice  ran  out  to  help  her  mother.  Mr.  Barton 
held  Maurice  away  from  him  at  an  arm's  length. 
"  Hum,  hum,"  he  said,  a  little  disapprovingly.  He 
pulled  down  his  own  unruffled  waistcoat,  patted  the 
ends  of  his  frock-coat,  and  rubbed  his  fingers 
purringly  over  the  silk  facings. 

Maurice  was  horribly  conscious  of  the  slight 
frown  on  the  handsome,  regular,  florid  face.  He 
could  see  it  even  in  the  well-kept  moustache,  in  the 


WAITING  273 

wavy  hair,  brushed  carefully  from  the  side  to  hide  its 
thinness,  and  in  the  creased  trousers  that  carried  the 
line  of  the  Roman  nose  down  to  the  highly  varnished 
boots.  He  looked  ruefully  at  his  own  rumpled 
waistcoat  and  baggy  trousers.  A  thought  struck 
him  and  he  smiled — after  all,  Alice  was  more  like  her 
mother.  He  looked  up  with  some  confidence,  but 
Mr.  Barton's  frown  had  already  gone. 

"  You  writing  fellows  are  a  caution — I  see  them 
sometimes  where  I  peck  in  the  middle  of  the  day — 
down-in-the-leathers  sort  of  chaps.  But  there 
are  some — I  see  one  with  as  natty  a  silk  hat  as 
we  ever  sold  at  Scrutton's.  That's  what  you  have 
to  aim  at.  Take  my  word — I  know — I'm  not  head 
floor-walker  for  nothing.  Don't  be  led  away  by  the 
wife  or  Alice.  They're  among  the  best,  but  they 
never  learned  the  value  of  good  window-dressing." 
He  drew  himself  up  and  fingered  his  tie. 

«  Settled  down  ?  " 

Maurice  was  feeling  crushed,  but  he  nodded 
with  a  smile. 

"Well,  you'll  soon  be  rolling  in  the  shekels. 
Alice  showed  me  one  or  two  things  in  The  Star — 
rotten  rag.  They're  not  my  kind.  A  little  more 
spice,  eh  ?  Still  it's  a  great  thing  to  have  one's 
name  in  print.  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  Alice  had 
done  well  for  herself.  We'll  talk  it  all  out  again 
sometime.  I  must  be  off  and  change  these  togs — it 
would  never  do  to  sit  down  in  them.  Care  to  look 
at  the  racing  special  ?  I  had  a  flutter  of  a  shilling 
in  a  sweep  on  the  Park  Plate  to-day,  and  I  won,  sir. 
That  gives  a  man  an  appetite  for  his  food.  Not 
sorry  you  dropped  the  schoolmastering — as  for  this 
bother  about  religion,  we  make  nothing  of  it  at 
Scrutton's,"  he  added  from  the  door. 

T 


274  WAITING 

Maurice  spent  a  depressed  few  minutes  while 
Alice  and  her  mother  laid  the  table  for  a  second 
high  tea.  Would  Mr.  Barton  be  another  com- 
plication ?  If  he  were  only  like  Mrs.  Barton  ?  When 
he  found  out  that  he  wasn't  really  a  writing  fellow  ? 
He  stood  leaning  on  the  mantelpiece  with  a  worried 
brow. 

Alice  came  in  with  a  dish  of  bacon  and 
eggs.  "  Don't  look  like  the  grave,"  she  said, 
smiling  as  she  arranged  knives  and  forks.  "  If 
dad  bothers  you,  talk  to  him  about  roses — but 
here  he  comes." 

Maurice  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  The  jovial 
face  was  there  but  all  the  stiff  lines  had  gone  from 
the  figure.  Mr.  Barton's  manner  had  changed  with 
his  clothes.  The  loose  grey  alpaca  jacket,  the  baggy 
trousers,  the  well-worn  slippers,  the  flannel  shirt  and 
soft  collar  made  him  less  loud  and  assured.  Or 
was  it  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Barton  who  followed 
him  in  ? 

"  If  you're  trying  to  keep  your  trousers  straight 
all  day  this  is  a  relief,"  he  said,  with  a  glance  down 
his  leg. 

At  supper  he  asked  what  his  wife  had  been 
doing.  She  told  him  at  some  length.  He  listened 
appreciatively.  Then  Alice  was  put  through  a 
catechism. 

"  Oh,  and  then  you  met  the  train — and  after  that 
a  blank,"  he  said,  with  a  return  of  the  boisterous 
manner.  He  told  of  the  doings  at  Scrutton's.  He 
was  still  relating  the  day's  experience  to  Maurice 
when  Alice  and  her  mother,  after  washing  up,  re- 
joined them  in  the  sitting-room.  He  waited 
patiently  while  they  opened  work-boxes,  then,  taking 
them  into  the  circle  with  a  wave  of  his  hand, 


WAITING  275 

he  began  again.     "  What  did  the  manager  say  to 
me  ?     «  Barton,'  he  said " 

Alice  snapped  a  thread  on  her  finger  and  said 
quietly — 

"Did  Maurice  tell  you,  dad,  about  Mr. 
Driscoll's  roses  ? " 

Mrs.  Barton  smiled  and  looked  up  at  her  husband 
affectionately,  resting  her  hands  for  a  moment  on  her 
knee.  His  eyes  lit  up — Maurice  thought  how  like 
they  were  to  Alice's  with  that  look. 

"  No.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  before — and  I 
making  conversation.  What  sorts  has  he  ?  " 

At  ten  o'clock  Mrs.  Barton  put  away  her  work. 
"  Maurice  must  be  tired,  and  you  have  to  be  up 
early,  Luke,"  she  said  gently. 

"  Come  some  Sunday,  young  man,  or  a  Saturday 
afternoon,  when  I'm  free  of  that  damn  shop,  and  I'll 
show  you  my  patch.  We  keep  the  country  in  the 
town  here,  don't  we,  Lizzie  ?  " 

His  wife  smiled. 

"  Rus  in  urbe  the  dictionary  says.  I  wanted  to 
paint  it  on  the  gate,  but  the  wife  and  Alice  wouldn't 
let  me.  You'll  do,  young  fellow.  You  have  my 
blessing.  I  must  make  a  note  of  that  tip  about 
grafting.  Good  night  to  you,  and  come  soon 
again." 

Alice  walked  with  him  to  the  paling  that  separated 
the  narrow  strip  of  garden  from  the  road.  She 
locked  the  little  wooden  gate  for  the  night.  He 
leant  across  it  looking  at  the  house. 

"  A  house  like  that  would  cost  a  great  deal  in  a 
dear  town  like  this,"  he  said  musingly. 

"  It  wouldn't  then — it's  old  and  has  no  hot 
water  nor,  what  do  they  call  them  ?  modern  con- 
trivances." 


2j6  WAITING 

"  What  would  we  want  with  them  ?  " 

"  What,  indeed." 

"  Would  you  like  it  to  be  soon  ?  " 

"When  you  like,"  she  said,  hardly  above  her 
breath.  And  then,  as  he  was  going,  "  Only  I'd  like 
to  live  under  the  mountain  beyond  Dundrum. 
There's  more  air  there,  and  a  view  of  the  sea." 


CHAPTER   XIX 

IN  a  week  Alice  was  to  go  to  Tyrone  for  a  month's 
lecturing.  After  that  she  should  be  in  Dublin  for  a 
winter  course  at  Glasnevin.  They  met  every  day. 
In  the  mornings,  muffled  in  an  overcoat  and  rug, 
Maurice  worked.  There  were  slight  frosts  at  night, 
his  room  was  cold,  and  coal  was  expensive.  At  half- 
past  one  he  was  always  waiting  at  the  end  of  the 
Drumcondra  tram,  and,  soon,  there  was  only  glorious 
sunshine.  Alice  said  it  was  a  pity  it  wasn't  summer  ; 
and  he,  regretting  only  that  the  days  were  not  longer, 
agreed.  They  explored  Green  Lanes,  Raheny,  Fing- 
lass,  and  the  Phoenix  Park.  From  Donnybrook  they 
walked  along  the  banks  of  the  Dodder.  Twice  they 
took  the  mountain  road  from  Dundrum,  round 
by  the  back  of  St.  Columba's  College,  and  back 
by  the  Moravian  Cemetery.  Somewhere  between 
Dundrum  and  the  mountains  they  were  to  live,  Alice 
said.  And  there,  on  a  patch  of  heath,  high  above 
the  road,  with  a  clump  of  ragged  fir  trees,  higher  up, 
between  it  and  the  sky,  stood  the  very  cottage  she 
had  been  dreaming  of.  If  it  were  only  empty 
when  .... 

"  When  ? "  he  often  asked  himself  after  Alice 
had  gone  ;  and  his  depression  answered  "  never." 
He  sent  many  articles  to  The  Star,  but  they  were 
returned  without  a  word.  He  found  it  hard  to  write 
cheerful  replies  to  Alice's  spirited  letters.  Mr. 


278  WAITING 

Barton's  boisterous  high  spirits  kept  him  away  from 
the  only  people  he  knew.  The  city,  which  he  had 
thought  so  beautiful,  when  walking  through  it  with 
Alice,  seemed  now  a  huge  sore.  All  the  broken 
men  of  the  country — like  himself,  he  said  bitterly 
— had  drifted  there.  They  hung  on  the  bridges,  at 
public-house  doors,  round  the  Pillar,  at  street  corners, 
or  slouched  in  and  out  of  the  battered  doorways  of 
old  Georgian  houses.  Was  this  to  be  his  fate  ?  .  .  . 

One  morning,  with  a  rejected  manuscript  from 
the  office  of  The  Star  of  Liberty,  came  a  letter,  signed 
Louis  Breslin,  editor,  asking  him  to  call  that  after- 
noon at  four.  Was  it  more  work  ?  or  was  his 
weekly  folk-tale  to  be  stopped  ?  He  tried  to  write, 
but  the  paper  in  front  of  him  remained  blank.  He 
thought  of  the  cottage,  with  its  background  of  firs, 
and  he  glowed  with  hope.  His  vision  faded  away 
in  a  grey  mist,  from  which  emerged  a  slum  palace, 
in  a  back  street,  sordid,  grimy  faces  peering 
through  the  few  panes  that  were  not  stuffed  with 
sacking  or  boarded  up.  He  shivered  and  lit  the  tiny 
fire  Mrs.  Reed  had  laid  in  the  grate.  He  piled  on  the 
whole  scuttle  of  coals  and  soon  had  a  roaring  fire. 
When  Mrs.  Reed  brought  in  his  dinner  she  said 
approvingly — 

"A  man  never  did  any  good  without  he  had 
some  heat  in  him,  and  you  as  thin  as  a  lath  too." 

The  tray  was  placed  on  his  writing  table, 
where  he  ate  the  small  chop  to  which  he  had 
limited  himself.  He  gazed  hungrily  at  the  bare 
bone.  What  matter  if  he  was  spending  more  than 
he  earned — he  still  had  money  in  the  savings  bank. 
He  went  out  to  the  kitchen  and  asked  for  eggs. 

At  two  o'clock  he  set  out  for  The  Star  office  in 
Harcourt  Street.  The  slob  at  Fairview  seemed  to 


WAITING  279 

have  lost  the  horrid  smell  that  had  been  getting  on 
his  nerves.  Over  the  railway  embankment  he  caught 
a  glimpse  of  laughing  waves.  A  passing  train, 
between  the  sea  and  sky  on  the  high,  narrow 
causeway,  puffed  joyfully.  He  took  the  tram  to  the 
Pillar  and  did  not  see  the  dingy  streets.  He  got  to 
Sackville  Street  at  half-past  two  by  the  post  office 
clock.  It  was  only  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  walk  to 
Harcourt  Street,  so  he  had  an  hour  and  a  quarter  to 
dawdle  away.  He  was  looking  at  some  prints  in  a 
window  when  Mr.  Barton  shouted  "  Hallo  !  "  from 
the  door  of  a  restaurant  near  by.  "  You're  a  nice 
fellow — 'pon  my  soul,  you  are.  Deserting  us  !  Ha  ! 
ha  !  There'll  be  a  change,  Saturday.  Let  me 
whisper — Alice  coming  home.  'Twas  to  be  a  secret 
from  you.  We  were  to  march  over — take  you  by 
surprise.  Thought  I'd  give  you  a  hint — only  fair," 
with  a  preternaturally  sly  look  that  stretched  upwards 
to  his  glossy  hat.  He  glanced  doubtfully  at 
Maurice's  boots,  at  his  hat,  said  "  Ta,  ta.  Scrutton's'll 
think  I  am  lost,"  and  marched  off  with  his  chest 
well  extended. 

So  that  was  why  Alice  asked  him  not  to  write, 
after  Friday,  till  she  gave  him  another  address.  He 
gazed  at  the  retreating  Mr.  Barton  and  envied  him 
his  assurance  and  self-confidence.  If  only  he  had 
work  before  she  came  back.  .  .  . 

He  walked  up  and  down  in  front  of  The  Star 
office,  with  nervous  glances  at  the  dingy  windows. 
He  felt  cold  and  hot,  took  out  his  watch  every  few 
minutes,  returned  to  Stephen's  Green,  walked  round 
the  railings  twice,  went  into  a  tea-shop  and  ordered 
tea  which  he  did  not  take.  .  .  . 

At  five  minutes  past  four  he  was  shown  into  the 
editor's  room.  The  hall  and  stairs  had  reminded 


280  WAITING 

him  of  the  slums,  but  this  room  was  different.  He 
had  read  of  these  old  houses.  He  had  seen  them 
in  almost  every  street,  but  had  never  been  inside 
one.  Even  in  the  half  light  the  room  gave  a  feeling 
of  air  and  space.  He  was  following  the  line  of  the 
cornice  when  a  voice  said  quietly — 

«  You  like  it  ?  " 

Maurice  looked  round.  A  dapper  little  man, 
holding  in  his  hands  the  ends  of  a  half-unwound 
white  silk  muffler,  was  gazing  at  him  with  lazy 
brown  eyes. 

"  I  do — I  feel  I  do.  But  then,  1  know  nothing 
of  architecture,"  Maurice  said  hesitatingly. 

"  Ah  !  that  is  it — to  feel.  It  is  so  easy  to  know," 
the  other  said  with  more  interest. 

He  unwound  the  muffler  and  laid  it,  beside  his 
hat  and  overcoat,  on  a  chair.  He  turned  on  the 
lights,  poked  the  fire,  asked  Maurice  to  take  a  chair, 
and  sat  himself  behind  a  table  covered  with  papers. 

He  tapped  his  well-kept  nails  with  a  pencil. 

"  You  never  read  The  Star  of  Liberty"  he  said 
suddenly. 

"  No — that  is  sometimes — that  is — 

"  I  know — your  own  folk-tale  in  the  Friday 
issue." 

Maurice  blushed.  Breslin's  eyes  were  grave, 
though  an  ironic  smile  curled  the  corners  of  his  lips. 
"  You  know  the  Satyricon  ?  "  he  said  dryly. 

Maurice  looked  blank. 

"  Not  Petronius  ?  What  a  pity.  It  doesn't  matter. 
Folk  is  not  a  bad  substitute.  Are  you  going  to  live 
in  town  ?  What  did  you  do  in  the  country,  by  the 
way?" 

Maurice  told  him  ;  also,  in  reply  to  further 
questions,  why  he  left. 


WAITING  281 

Breslin  balanced  the  pencil  on  his  forefinger. 
Maurice  spoke  to  the  pencil  with  an  occasional  look 
at  Breslin's  face,  at  the  pallid  whiteness  of  the  skin 
above  the  closely-trimmed  black  beard,  flecked  with 
grey,  at  the  high  forehead,  over  which  a  lock  of  grey 
hair  fell  negligently. 

"  So  you  were  kicked  out — I  suppose  it  was 
better  than  resigning.  Very  interesting  and — very 
foolish."  He  got  up  and  stood  with  his  back  to  the 
fire,  his  hands  under  his  coat-tails.  The  brown  eyes 
seemed  to  look  through  the  wall  opposite.  "  I  did 
something  of  the  kind  once  myself,  but  it  was  long 
— a  very  long  time  ago."  His  eyes  dropped  to  a 
chair.  "  That's  a  good  piece  of  Chippendale  ? " 

Maurice  shook  his  head. 

"  You  write  well  though.  Gad,  some  of  those 
tales  were  good — a  little  Homerish,  a  hint  of 
Rabelais.  That  last  one  held  my  breath.  In  a 
saint's  mouth  too  !  The  man  who  tacked  a  saint's 
name  on  to  that  tale  had  the  irony  of  Anatole  France 
— it  came  straight  from  Olympus  or  from  a  lover 
of  Maeve.  I  split  my  sides  laughing  at  the  chance 
of  putting  it  on  the  Reverend  breakfast  tables  under 
the  patronage  of  St.  Patrick  himself.  It  makes  me 
laugh  again  to  think  of  it."  His  shoulders  moved 
a  little,  and  the  ends  of  his  waistcoat,  but  there  was 
no  sound,  nor  did  his  face  seem  mirthful. 

Maurice  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I  only 
translated  them,"  he  said  simply. 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  didn't  say  you  invented  them. 
If  you  had — but  I'm  getting  too  old  for  prostrations 
— and  it's  bad  for  one's  clothes.  But  you  found  the 
right  word — that  I'll  swear,  though  I  don't  know 
Irish — and  that's  something." 

He  moved  his  chair  to  the  table  and  sat  down 


282  WAITING 

again,  pulling  his  beard  softly.  "  Now  about  those 
other  things  of  yours — they  won't  do  at  all —  you'd 
know  it  yourself  if  you  read  The  Star  diligently." 

"  Not  good  enough  ?  "  Maurice  said  resignedly. 
"  I  did  my  best,  though,  to  make  them  true  to  life." 
He  looked  at  the  marble  mantelpiece  with  a 
puzzled  frown. 

"  Adams,"  Breslin  said.  He  chuckled,  this  time 
andibly.  "  Truth  !  ah,  indeed,  what  is  it  ?  And 
you  versed  in  the  irony  of  folk  too  !  Truth  ! 
pestiferous  thing  !  a  weary  search,  and  the  reward — 
dust  and  ashes.  I  told  you  I  tried  the  game  once." 
He  waved  his  hand  round  the  room,  "  I  had  to 
pawn  all  these — 'twas  years  before  I  was  able  to 
redeem  them.  No,  my  friend,  your  truth  won't  do 
at  all — on  the  subjects  of  those  articles  you  sent  me," 
he  added  gravely  after  a  pause.  "  Priests  and 
politicians  and  gombeen  men  !  "  gazing  pensively  at 
the  decoration  on  the  celling.  "  All  the  regular 
subscribers  to  The  Star  !  The  whole  truth  about 
them  is  found  in  my  leading  articles.  I  hold  the 
mirror  up  to  nature — none  of  your  vulgar  mirrors 
that  reflect  a  pimple  or  a  squint  or  a  crooked  tie, 
but  a  magic  mirror."  He  leant  back  and  stroked 
his  beard.  "  Hey,  presto  !  I  hold  it  up,  and  you 
see  men,  not  perhaps  as  they  are,  nor  even  as  they 
see  themselves,  but  as  they  wish  the  world  to  see 
them.  Who  knows  ?  "  he  added  with  a  shrug. 

Maurice  laughed.  "  I'm  afraid  my  things  won't 
do,"  he  said  dryly,  standing  up. 

"  Don't  go  yet.  I've  a  few  minutes  before  the 
infernal  grind  begins.  Sit  down  a  moment.  I  like 
your  stuff.  It's  a  weakness,  of  course."  He 
fingered  a  Georgian  inkstand.  "  Write  me  a  series — I 
don't  see  why  you  shouldn't  keep  it  on  indefinitely 


WAITING  283 

— simple,  non-controversial  things — a  threshing, 
games  in  the  country,  a  fair,  a  market,  a  ceilidhe — 
the  thousand  and  one  things.  I  warn  you,  I'll  blue 
pencil  anything  dangerous.  Irony — if  you  are  able 
and  if  it  is  sufficiently  elusive — I'd  like  'em  to  have 
a  flavour.  Thank  God  for  small  mercies,"  he  added 
whimsically,  "  the  devils  aren't  too  subtle." 

"  I  might  try,"  Maurice  said  doubtfully. 

"  Oh,  you'll  do  'em  all  right — I've  no  doubt 
about  that.  If  you're  bursting  with  what  you  call 
the  truth — misguided  man — there  are  other  rags 
that  would  be  glad  to  have  it.  They  won't  pay 
you — poor  devils — they're  always  going  smash,  but 
there's  always  one  about.  I'm  afraid  I  must  begin 
to  work.  Call  again — I'm  free  from  four  to  five,  or 
better  still,  Saturday  nights,  any  hour,  at  my  digs 
at  Dundrum.  Supper  at  seven — bachelor  pot  luck." 
He  stood  up.  "  Those  articles — about  fourteen 
hundred  words — one  or,  maybe,  two  a  week — say  a 
pound  each — say  thirty  shillings.  There's  the 
Dundrum  address."  He  shook  hands,  walked  half- 
way across  the  room  with  Maurice,  said  "  a  moment," 
turned  back  to  the  desk,  took  a  plain,  brown  paper 
covered  booklet  from  under  a  heap  of  proofs. 
"  Put  it  in  your  pocket — privately  printed — those 
bishops  ! — selections  from  Petronius — I  envy  you 
the  mot  juste  though." 

Maurice  walked  down  the  stairs  half  dazed,  the 
beautiful  room  and  the  trim  Breslin  still  in  his  eyes. 
Surely  he  was  impossible,  he  thought,  as  he  stood  in 
the  grimy  hall.  Three  or  four  pallid  men  passed 
him  by  and  down  a  long  passage  to  the  back — 
printers,  he  supposed.  When  he  got  to  the  street, 
he  crossed  over  and  gazed  at  the  dingy  house. 
The  light  from  a  street  lamp  fell  on  a  discoloured 


284  WAITING 

board,  under  the  first-floor  windows,  u  The  Star  of 
Liberty,"  printed  on  it  in  large  letters.  Breslin 
seemed  even  more  unreal.  It  was  all  a  joke.  And 
he  was  to  write  nice,  harmless  things  !  He  raged, 
along  the  Green,  against  The  Star  of  Liberty,  Breslin, 
bishops,  and  publicans.  In  the  middle  of  Grafton 
Street  he  was  composing  a  sketch  of  a  country 
wedding.  He  liked  it.  At  the  gate  of  Trinity  he 
thought  of  Alice.  He  stood  gaping  at  the  dimly 
lighted  archway,  at  other  lights  beyond,  at  the 
uniform  of  the  porter  who  lounged  into  the  light. 

That    cap Why    these    articles    changed     his 

position  completely.  The  realization  was  a  shock. 
He  steadied  himself  by  touching  the  railings.  His 
fingers  tingled.  He  stuck  his  hands  in  his  overcoat 
pocket  and  walked  on.  With  his  folk  column — two 
pounds  ten  a  week,  perhaps  four  pounds.  It  was 
wealth  untold.  More  than  enough  for  that  cottage. 
He  leant  against  the  parapet  of  O'Connell  bridge 
and  watched  the  lights,  in  long  broken  flames, 
swaying  deep  down  in  the  water.  And  there  was 
still  seventy  pounds  in  the  savings  bank — far  more 
than  they'd  need  for  furniture.  He  walked  on. 
Tram  cars  flashed  gay  lights  at  him.  In  the  dark 
vault  above  the  wires,  the  stars  had  a  kind  look. 
He  jostled  against  a  soldier  and  his  sweetheart  and 
lifted  his  hat.  "  The  bloke  is  blind,"  in  response 
made  him  smile.  He  had  got  to  the  top  of  Sackville 
Street  before  he  noticed  that  he  had  passed  the  Pillar 
and  his  tram.  He  railed  against  himself  for  think- 
ing so  much  about  money.  It  was  an  insult  to 
Alice  too.  He  watched  people  go  in  to  the  Gaelic 
League  Rooms.  He  would  take  that  up  again— 
and  other  things.  And  those  other  papers — what 
matter  if  they  didn't  pay.  .  .  . 


WAITING  285 

He  posted  the  sketch  before  going  to  bed.  Two 
days  afterwards  he  had  a  proof  and  a  note  from 
Breslin  :  "  That's  the  stuff.  Do  two  a  week." 

He  took  the  afternoon  train  to  Dundrum.  A 
policeman,  busy  warming  his  gloved  hands  in  the 
waiting-room,  knew  all  about  the  cottage. 

"  A  lonesome  place  and  windy — they  call  it 
*  The  Firs ' — and  to  be  got  for  a  song,  for  all  the 
year  round.  Sonny  Fogarty  has  the  letting  of  it," 
he  said  with  friendly  interest.  "  I'll  show  you  the 
way  to  him." 

Maurice  saw  the  cottage — a  living  room,  a 
scullery,  two  bedrooms  and  a  loft — under  Sonny 
Fogarty's  guidance. 

"  There's  great  accommodation  in  the  loft,"  Sonny 
said  impressively.  "  You  could  put  this  and  that  in 
it,  or  a  bed,  and  be  kept  warm  at  night  by  the  heat 
of  the  kitchen  fire."  He  waxed  eloquent  over  the 
eave-shoots,  and  a  green  and  white  water-barrel  out- 
side the  scullery  door,  "  and  the  spring  well,  by  the 
clump  of  furze  beyond,  couldn't  be  beat  for  coldness 
even  in  the  middle  of  summer." 

"  The  sea  and  the  mountains  aren't  everybody's 
bargain,"  Sonny  said  doubtfully.  But  Maurice  was 
thinking  of  Bourneen,  of  which  the  sea,  stretching 
away  beyond  Howth  Head,  reminded  him.  His 
abstraction  saved  him  something  in  the  rent,  for 
Sonny  hastened  to  make  apologies  for  mountain  and 
sea.  "  Nearly  always,  they  are  as  quiet  as  a  lamb, 
and  if  they'd  get  headstrong  itself,  why,  with  the 
porch  in  front,  and  the  way  the  door  is  set  in  it,  and 
the  scullery  behind,  not  a  breath  can  come  at  you." 
As  Maurice  still  made  no  sign,  he  went  on  excitedly, 
the  fat  shaking  in  waves  all  over  his  enormous  figure, 
for  he  was  six  feet  two,  and  broad  and  deep,  "  It's 


286  WAITING 

none  of  them  cottages  with  a  clay  floor  to  it,  but  the 
best  of  a  boarded  floor  in  the  kitchen — sorra  quality 
house  in  the  country  has  better.  And  signs  on  it 
ladies  are  running  over  each  other,  in  the  summer 
months,  trying  to  get  it.  Real  quality,  though  they 
often  tramp  about  the  grass  without  a  shoe  or 
stocking  to  their  foot — it's  a  way  the  quality  have 
if  they're  given  to  dabbing  paint  on  a  piece  of  paper 
and  calling  it  a  cow,  or  the  peep  of  dawn  or  the  like. 
Howsomever,  I  don't  deny  I'd  rather  a  yearly  tenant, 
being  a  load  ofF  a  man's  mind.  What'd  you  say 
to  ten  pounds  a  year  now  ? " 

Maurice  said  "All  right,"  cheerfully.  His  ready 
acceptance  depressed  Sonny.  "  It's  giving  it  away, 
I  am,"  he  said,  throwing  out  his  hands  despairingly, 
his  ridiculous  boyish  treble  taking  a  sharper  note  : 
"  all  them  cupboards  in  holes  and  corners,  and  that 
grand  brick  pavement  round  the  fire  to  warm  your 
toes  on  of  a  winter's  night,  and  a  gravel  path  fornint 
the  front  door,  and — and  all  the  other  conveniences." 
He  gave  a  sigh  that  shook  his  whole  frame.  As 
they  walked  back  to  Dundrum  he  became  more 
cheerful.  "  The  wife — she's  a  small  woman  in  size 
but  powerful  in  the  tongue,  sorra  woman  in  Dun- 
drum  has  half  her  virtue  in  it — she  often  says  to  me 
by  the  way  of  no  harm,  '  Sonny,  you're  a  fool.'  And 
I  wouldn't  say  but  she's  right.  But  then,  ten 
pounds  isn't  bad  for  an  airy  house  the  like  of  that, 
that's  too  dear  for  them  that  it'd  suit  to  take  it  in 
the  middle  of  winter,  and  too  small  for  them  that 
could  pay  for  it."  He  was  still  trying  to  explain 
this  cryptic  statement  as  they  signed  an  agreement. 
In  handing  over  the  key  he  said  timidly,  "  Meaning 
no  disrespect,  but  seeing  that  I  don't  know  you  from 
Adam,  would  you  think  it'd  be  presuming  on  you  to 


WAITING  287 

ask  you  for  a  trifle  down,  to  show  that  you're  in 
earnest  ?  " 

Maurice  walked  home.  Now  and  again  he  put 
his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  fingered  the  key  with 
a  feeling  of  satisfaction.  It  was  a  gloomy  walk, 
between  high  demesne  walls,  dimly  lit  at  long 
intervals  by  gas  lamps,  but  his  feet  struck  the  road 
cheerfully.  He  saw  the  stars  and  was  happy.  Alice 
was  coming  on  Saturday.  Poor  old  Driscoll — they 
would  have  him  up  to  stay  with  them.  He  laughed 
at  the  recollection  of  Father  Mahon.  The  laugh 
died  away  thinly  and  his  steps  became  slower.  It 
flashed  through  his  mind  that  he  was  not  yet  done 
with  Father  Mahon.  He  touched  the  key  again,  but 
it  had  lost  its  power  of  assurance.  He  had  the 
house,  but  was  not  yet  married.  There  was  still  the 
dispensation  to  get.  The  high  walls  took  on  a 
sinister  aspect.  He  stood  for  a  moment  at  the 
frowning  entrance  to  a  big  demesne.  He  idly  won- 
dered who  lived  there.  Then  he  laughed  harshly. 
It  was  a  convent,  of  course,  or  a  monastery.  All  the 
big  places  round  Dublin  were  occupied  by  priests  or 
nuns.  The  long  arm  of  Father  Mahon  stretched 
everywhere.  Resignation  was  preached  to  those 
wretches  in  the  slums  from  these  palaces.  But  this 
mood  did  not  last  long.  Some  inborn  instinct,  of 
his  faith  or  his  peasant  training,  made  him  take  oflF 
his  hat  almost  unconsciously  and  say  reverently, 
"  May  God  forgive  me  for  criticising  them."  Dris- 
coll often  said,  too,  that  "  one  wasn't  to  judge  the  old 
faith  by  its  priests,  and  if  it  went  to  that,  some  of 
them  were  as  good  as  you'd  meet  in  a  day's  walk." 
All  the  same,  he  thought  one  would  have  more  trust 
in  them  if  they  were  a  little  more  like  the  religion 
they  professed.  There  he  was  at  his  criticising 


288  WAITING 

again  !  He  stepped  out  quickly  to  shake  off  these 
thoughts.  The  next  convent  wall  brought  them 
back.  Lamps  became  more  frequent.  A  tram  was 
standing  at  the  end  of  a  track.  He  entered  it. 
The  lights,  and  two  old  women  discussing  a  rise  in 
the  price  of  sugar,  made  him  calmer.  He  bought 
an  evening  paper  and  tried  to  read  it,  but  the  dis- 
pensation worried  him.  He  would  see  some  priest 
about  it.  They  were  not  all  Father  Mahons.  That 
old  friar,  to  whom  he  had  been  to  confession  in  the 
church  off  the  quay,  seemed  kind.  The  tram  began 
to  move.  He  held  the  paper  open  in  front  of  him, 
but,  over  it,  he  studied  intently  an  advertisement  of 
some  desiccated  soup,  which  appeared  and  dis- 
appeared as  the  heads  of  the  old  women  opposite 
bobbed  up  and  down.  .  .  . 

He  got  off  the  tram  at  O'Connell  Bridge  and 
was  soon  in  the  church.  A  few  lights  struggled 
against  the  dust,  and  a  haze  that  came  in  from  the 
river.  Several  people  were  praying  in  the  nave. 
The  seats  round  the  confessionals,  in  the  aisles, 
were  packed.  He  wondered  why  there  were  so 
many  people,  till  he  remembered  that  it  was  the  eve 
of  the  first  Friday  of  the  month.  He  prayed 
awhile,  and  took  his  place  in  the  queue  at  Father 
Evangelist's  box.  As  penitent  after  penitent  was 
heard  he  moved  up  slowly  on  the  long  seat,  nearer 
to  the  confessional.  The  dark  shadows,  the  muttered 
prayers,  the  jingling  of  beads,  the  click  of  the  slides 
of  the  confession  boxes,  the  immense  indrawn 
sigh  that  seemed  to  fill  the  gaunt,  stuffy  church, 
made  him  impatient  and  irritable.  .  .  . 

Father  Evangelist  opened  the  slide  and  blessed 
him. 

"  How  long  since  your  last  confession  ?  " 


WAITING  289 

"  I  don't  want  confession.  It's  about  a  marriage. 
How  is  a  Catholic  to  get  a  dispensation  to  marry  a 
Protestant  ?  "  he  said  hesitatingly. 

The  old  priest  lifted  the  curtain  in  front  of  the 
box,  so  that  the  dim  light  shone  a  little  on  Maurice's 
face.  He  peered  closely. 

"Hum,  hum.  Well,  well.  What  a  question 
to  pop  at  a  man.  Maybe,  you'd  better  make  your 
confession  after  all — I'd  be  better  able  to  advise 
you." 

"  I  only  want  to  know  how  to  get  the  dis- 
pensation." 

"  Well,  I'm  hurried  anyway  to-night,"  the  priest 
said  with  a  sigh.  "  Look  for  it,  you  mean — for  you 
might  get  it  or  you  might  not.  It's  not  as  easy  here 
as  in  some  other  places.  But  that's  neither  here 
nor  there,  for  we  poor  friars  have  nothing  to  say  to 
it.  The  seculars  keep  the  like  of  that  to  themselves. 
Go  to  your  parish  priest,  my  son,  and  he'll  tell  you 
what  to  do  or  what  not  to  do  in  the  matter.  Doing 
nothing  is  often  the  wisest  in  an  affair  of  the  kind. 
Where  do  you  live  now  ?  " 

Maurice  told  him. 

"  Oh,  that's  Father  Cafferley — a  wise  man.  See 
him.  God  bless  you,  my  son."  He  waved  his 
hand  as  he  shut  the  slide. 

It  was  not  much  progress,  Maurice  thought,  as 
he  left  the  church,  but  at  least  he  knew  whom  to 
ask.  When  he  reached  his  lodgings  he  found  a 
letter  from  Alice.  She  and  her  father  were  coming 
to  tea  with  him  on  Saturday.  At  first  she  intended 
to  surprise  him,  but  it  would  be  dreadful  if  he 
should  not  be  at  home,  or  if  there  was  no  plum 
cake.  He  forgot  the  dispensation  in  a  discussion 
with  Mrs.  Reed  on  the  possibilities  of  the  tea. 

u 


290  WAITING 

"  Of  course,  'tis  no  trouble  at  all,"  she  said, 
looking  round  the  room  critically.  "  A  screen  I  have 
without  can  be  put  round  the  bed,  and  the  wash- 
stand  hid  behind  it.  And  I'll  bring  in  my  best 
cups  and  teapot,  and  make  a  real  country  cake 
for  ye." 

"  A  plum  cake  ?  "  he  said  diffidently. 

"  I  would  and  welcome,"  she  said  doubtfully, 
"  but  it  has  a  habit  of  never  rising  for  me.  You'd 
best  buy  it.  It's  better  to  be  sure  than  sorry." 

He  wrote  to  Alice  to  Tyrone,  and  another  note 
to  Drumcondra,  lest  she  might  miss  the  first.  He 
sat  for  a  couple  of  hours  over  a  sketch  for  Breslin, 
but  the  thought  of  seeing  Father  Cafferley,  and  the 
tea,  kept  the  end  of  his  pen  against  his  teeth.  He 
threw  it  down  on  an  unfinished  page  and  went 
to  bed. 

Though  he  dreamed  of  the  tea,  Father  Cafferley 
occupied  his  mind  when  he  awoke.  At  breakfast  he 
inquired  of  Mrs.  Reed  where  the  parish  priest  lived. 
For  the  first  time  he  learned  that  she  was  not  a 
Catholic. 

"  I  am  not  his  kind,"  she  said,  "  but  to  be  sure 
I  know  his  house  well — a  decent  looking,  distant 
man  that  keeps  himself  to  himself." 

At  ten  o'clock,  following  Mrs.  Reed's  elaborate 
directions,  he  set  out  by  the  priest's  house.  As  he 
rang  the  door  opened,  and  a  smartly  dressed,  elderly 
priest  stood  on  the  threshold.  He  looked  at 
Maurice  keenly,  said  "  Well  ?  "  and  began  to  button 
a  grey  suede  glove. 

"  Father  Cafferley  ?  " 

"  Your  business  ?  I'm  in  a  hurry-— just  going 
into  town." 

"  May  I  have  a  few  minutes " 


WAITING  291 

"  You've  wasted  that  already — surely  one  of  the 
curates  will  do,  they  are  inside." 
"  I  would  rather  speak  to  you." 
Father  Cafferley  made  a  gesture  of  impatience, 
adjusted  his  well-ironed  hat  to  a  slightly  rakish  angle, 
brushed  a  speck  of  dust  off  a  boot  with  the  glove 
he  had  not  yet  put  on,  looked  at  Maurice  super- 
ciliously, and  said  sharply — 

"  This  is — come  in  here."  He  banged  the  door, 
and  led  the  way  into  a  small  room  in  which  there 
was  a  desk  and  a  bookcase.  "  Well  ? "  he  said 
again,  standing  with  his  hat  on,  and  folding  his 
umbrella  with  neatness  and  precision. 

Maurice  was  fascinated  by  the  glossy  figure,  by 
the  gloss  of  the  hat,  of  the  freshly  shaven  face,  of 
the  collar,  of  the  satin  stock,  of  the  clothes,  of  the 
heavy  gold  watchchain,  of  the  pointed  boots.  Even 
the  umbrella  was  covered  with  some  glossy  stuff 
that  reflected  the  light.  It  was  folded  to  a  thin 
stick  as  Maurice  said — 

"  I  want  a  dispensation  for  a  mixed  marriage. 
Could  I  trouble ' 

"  Do  you  belong  to  this  parish  ? " 

"  I  lodge  in  Briar  Lane." 

"  Oh,  there  !  "  with  another  look  at  Maurice's 
clothes.  "  With  whom  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Reed." 

Father  Cafferley  pursed  his  lips,  his  snub  nose 
inclining  upwards  thoughtfully. 

"  Don't  know  her.     A  Catholic  ? " 

"  I  believe  not." 

"Oh!"  lowering  his  voice  an  octave.  "A 
lodger,  you  say  ?  Here  to-day  and  away  to-morrow, 
and  bothering  me  !  It  is  really  too  bad,  my  good 
man.  But  everybody  in  this  world  is  unreasonable. 


292  WAITING 

You  come  from  the  country  I  see  by "  —his  eyes 
said  "  clothes " — "  by  your  accent."  He  spoke 
himself  as  if  he  suffered  from  adenoids.  "You 
have  a  parish  priest  of  your  own,  I  presume  ?  Go 
to  him." 

"  He  has  refused  me." 
"  Oh  !     Who  is  he  ?  " 

"  Father  Mahon,  of  Bourneen,  near  Liscannow." 

Father    Cafferley   pursed    his    lips    again.     "  I 

know  him  well — a  most  respectable  and  distinguished 

priest,   one    of    the   staunchest    supporters   of    our 

Catholic  Truth  Society,  spoken  of  for  a  bish " 

His  voice  had  lost  its  patronizing  tone  and  he  spoke 
sharply.  "  My  good  man,  this  puts  an  entirely 
different  complexion  on  the  affair.  I  can  do  nothing. 
Do  you  intend  to  stay  in  this  parish  ? "  he  added 
doubtfully. 
"  No." 

"Then  that  settles  it,"  the  priest  said  with 
relief.  "  One's  own  parishioners  are  bad  enough," 
he  continued,  with  a  rising  angry  inflection,  "  but 
every — every  man  from  the  whole  country  comes 
up  here  bothering  us  Dublin  priests.  Good  morn- 
ing, sir,  you've  already  kept  me  an  unconscionable 
time."  He  drew  out  a  heavily  cased  gold  watch. 
"  I've  lost  ten  minutes  of  my  valuable  time  with  you." 
Maurice,  whose  anger  was  slowly  growing, 
managed  to  restrain  himself.  He  asked  quietly, 
"  Can  I  get  no  priest  in  Dublin  to  attend  to  this  ?  " 
He  was  retreating  backward  towards  the  door,  under 
pressure  of  the  point  of  the  umbrella  under  Father 
Cafferley 's  arm. 

"  Oh,  they  might  listen  to  you  at  the  Vicariate." 
"Listen  ? "  Maurice  said  bitterly  :  "and  send  the 
fool  further,  I  suppose." 


WAITING  293 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  "  Father  CafFerley  laughed,  "  not 
bad  that.  I  must  tell  it  to  the  vicars,  they'll  enjoy 
it."  They  were  now  at  the  front  door.  The  priest 
descended  the  steps,  turned  round  and  said,  "The 
Vicariate,"  chuckled,  set  his  face  gravely,  and  strutted 
away  along  the  pavement. 

From  the  top  step,  a  fierce  anger  clouding  his 
brain,  Maurice  watched  him  till  he  disappeared 
round  a  corner.  Was  it  any  use  going  to  the 
Vicariate  ?  he  asked  himself,  without  troubling  about 
the  reply.  He  wandered  through  the  streets,  seeing 
nothing.  Unconsciously  he  must  have  had  a  purpose, 
for  he  found  himself  inquiring  for  the  Vicariate.  A 
policeman  shook  his  head.  "  I  never  heard  tell  of 
the  like."  He  asked  a  sacristan  who  was  beating 
mats  against  the  railings  in  front  of  a  church. 
"  The  next  house,"  he  said. 

"  The  vicars  ?  It  isn't  their  day,"  the  man  who 
opened  the  door  said.  Maurice's  distrait  look  must 
have  appealed  to  him  for  he  added,  "  But  by 
accident  there's  one  of  'em  within — he  might  see 
you." 

A  kind  old  priest  listened  patiently  to  his  tale, 
though,  at  times,  he  interjected  gently,  "This  is 
highly  informal,  highly  informal."  When  he  had 
heard  all  the  circumstances  he  said,  after  some 
reflection,  "  You  couldn't  put  a  little  more  pressure 
on  her  ? — all  for  the  good  of  her  soul,  you  know." 

Maurice  shook  his  head. 

The  old  man  spoke,  at  length,  of  domiciles  and 
quasi-domiciles,  letters  of  freedom,  application 
direct  to  Rome,  the  expense,  the  necessity  of 
observing  an  orderly  procedure. 

"  What  am  I  to  do  then  ? "  Maurice  asked, 
bewildered. 


294  WAITING 

"  It's  exceedingly  complicated,"  the  priest  said, 
and  he  again  gave  a  long  rambling  explanation  of 
domicile  which  Maurice  was  unable  to  follow.  "  So 
you  see,  all  things  considered,  far  the  best  thing  for 
you  is  to  make  friends  with  your  parish  priest  in  the 
country.  What  did  you  say  his  name  was  ?  Father 
Mahon — I  think  I've  heard  of  him.  A  good  man, 
I'm  sure,  at  the  bottom,  if  you'd  only  take  him  the 
right  way." 

"So  that  is  all,"  Maurice  said  drearily. 

"  Only  that  you  have  my  sympathy — any  poor 
fellow  in  trouble  has  it,"  the  priest  said,  rising,  "  and 
pray — pray — that's  the  great  thing." 

Maurice  wandered  again  through  the  streets. 
Somewhere  away  at  the  back  of  his  mind  there  was 
something  worrying  him.  He  knew  it  was  there 
by  a  dull  ache  in  the  pit  of  his  stomach.  But  he 
did  not  try  to  bring  it  into  consciousness.  Besides, 
there  was  so  much  to  see.  The  surface  of  his  mind 
was  keenly  alert.  He  was  interested  in  the  traffic, 
in  a  type  of  van  horse  that  he  saw  for  the  first  time, 
in  the  faces  of  the  crowd.  Priests  passed — there 
seemed  hundreds  of  them.  For  no  particular  reason 
that  he  was  conscious  of,  he  looked  at  them  more 
closely  than  at  the  other  passers-by.  He  saw  them 
as  so  many  foppish  and  jaunty  Father  Cafferleys, 
or  scowling  Father  Mahons,  or  earnest  Father 
Malones.  That  one  had  the  kind  of  face  of  the  old 
vicar,  this  was  like  Father  Delahunty — he  looked  for 
the  dogs  at  his  heels  and  was  disappointed  at  not 
seeing  them.  He  watched  a  football  match  through 
the  college  railings,  and  the  gulls  wheeling  over  the 
river  by  O'Connell  Bridge.  .  .  . 

He  got  home  late  and  worked  feverishly  far  into 
the  night.  He  was  awakened  out  of  a  dreamless 


WAITING  295 

sleep  by  Mrs.  Reed's  voice  shouting  through   the 
half-opened  door  : 

"  I  didn't  like  to  waken  you  before,  you  were 
that  sound.  But  it's  near  dinner-time — and  the 
people  coming  to  tea,  and  the  room  to  be  done  up, 
and  aired.  You  can  make  dinner  and  breakfast  of  the 
one  meal,  and  then,  be  off  with  you  till  I  settle  things 
up.  And  don't  forget  the  cake  when  you're  out." 

The  tea  was  hardly  a  success.  The  plum  cake 
was  good.  The  soda  cake  was  done  to  a  turn. 
Alice,  who  arrived  looking  her  best  and  in  high 
spirits,  soon  had  a  sad  expression  in  her  eyes. 
Maurice  was  moody  and  depressed  to  begin  with. 
Mr.  Barton's  hilarious  anecdotes  of  his  life  at 
Scrutton's,  when,  as  a  young  man,  he  "lived  in," 
evoked  stony  smiles  from  Maurice  and  made  him 
only  more  and  more  silent.  Anger  pent  up  in  him 
since  he  left  the  Vicariate  yesterday,  seemed  now  to 
choke  him.  His  lips  were  dry  and  his  tongue  stuck 
to  his  palate.  He  wanted  to  use  explosive  language, 
but  he  had  to  listen  to  those  stories  about  Scrutton's. 
Alice's  smiles  became  fewer  and  fewer.  He  caught 
her  looking  at  him  and  tried  to  smile.  It  must  have 
been  a  sickly  effort,  he  thought,  as  he  caught  her 
anxious  glance  a  few  seconds  later.  She  lowered 
her  eyes  quickly  and  he  sat  staring  at  her  with  a 
frown.  At  last  Mr.  Barton  rose. 

"A  very  pleasant  visit,  Blake.  We  enjoyed 
ourselves — eh,  Alice  ?  " 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  Alice  asked,  lingering  behind. 

"That  damned  dispensation,"  Maurice  said 
angrily. 

"  Oh,  that  !  "  she  said  with  relief.  She  gave  a 
low  laugh.  "  I'll  be  at  the  tram  at  eleven  to- 
morrow and  we  can  go  somewhere." 


296  WAITING 

She  had  never  seemed  more  desirable,  yet  he 
was  glad  he  was  alone.  He  was  angry  with  Barton 
for  coming,  though  he  shrank  from  the  possibility 
of  any  intimate  talk  with  Alice.  What  was  he 
going  to  do  about  the  marriage  ?  And  to-morrow 
he  should  have  to  make  some  explanation  to  Alice. 
He  seized  his  hat  and  went  out.  He  tried  to  think, 
but  all  sorts  of  irrelevant  details  filled  his  mind — 
Father  Cafferley's  gloves  and  Father  Mahon's  pro- 
truding under-lip  and  the  Adams  mantelpiece  in 
Breslin's  room.  He  boarded  a  passing  tram  and 
spelled  out  the  advertisements.  At  the  Pillar  he 
changed  into  another  tram  without  thinking  of 
where  it  was  going.  Alice  took  it  too  lightly,  he 
thought.  The  next  moment  he  muttered  between 
his  teeth  that  she  was  right.  He  was  not  going  to 
be  crushed  by  Father  Mahon.  .  .  . 

Three  hours  later  he  stood  under  a  lamp-post 
in  Dundrum  deciphering  Breslin's  address  from  a 
crumpled  card  which  he  found,  after  long  searching, 
in  the  pocket  of  his  waistcoat.  The  name 
"  Dundrum  "  on  the  post  office  had  just  reminded 
him  of  Breslin's  invitation — and  luckily  this  was 
Saturday  night.  His  anger  had  spent  itself  till  only 
a  dull  resentment  remained — more  against  himself, 
for  his  boorishness  at  tea,  than  against  Father  Mahon 
for  placing  obstacles  in  the  way  of  his  marriage,  or 
against  Father  CafFerley  for  his  cynical  indifference. 
There  must  be  some  way  out  of  the  difficulty. 
Thousands  of  mixed  marriages  took  place  every 
year.  No  matter  how  active  was  Father  Mahon's 
hostility  there  must  be  some  way  of  overcoming  it. 

A  passing  errand  boy  pointed  out  the  way  to 
Breslin's  house.  He  was  still  seated  at  the  table 
in  the  dining-room,  when  Maurice  was  shown  in. 


WAITING  297 

A  book  lay  back  upwards  beside  him.  He  held  a 
coffee  cup  half-way  to  his  lips.  The  only  light  in 
the  room,  except  a  glowing  fire,  a  low  shaded  lamp 
on  the  table,  was  turned  towards  a  picture  on  the 
wall  opposite,  a  bunch  of  carnations  in  a  cut-glass 
tumbler. 

"  Stand  here,  just  behind  me— you  get  it  ? " 
"  It  seems  all  right,"  Maurice  said  indifferently. 
Breslin     shrugged    his    shoulders,    murmured, 
a  Poor    Fantin,"    stood    up,    and    turned  on   more 
lights.     "  Some  supper  ?  "  he  said. 

Maurice  said  he  did  not  want  to  eat. 
"  Take  that  armchair  then,  and  we   shall  have 
some  coffee  by  the  fire — it's  warmer  here  than  in 
my  study.     Do  you  like  this  room  ?" 

"  It's  different,"  Maurice  hesitated,  his  eyes  on 
Breslin's  coloured  jacket.  "  The  other  room  is 

severe,  this  is  a  riot " 

"  That's  better — you  see."  He  waved  his  arm  : 
"  this  colour  scheme  starts  from  my  smoking  jacket. 
It  takes  one  out  of  the  damned  grey  of  the  country 
— the  grey  skies,  and  the  hideous  grey  slates,  and 
the  grey  lives  of  the  people.  They  have  grey  souls 
if  we  could  only  see  them." 

"  The  people  would  have  some  colour  in  their 
lives  if  they  only  got  the  chance,"  Maurice  said, 
taking  a  cigarette  from  a  box  which  Breslin  held  out. 
Breslin  laughed  ironically.  "  The  country  is 
dying,"  he  said  lightly.  He  waved  a  hand  to  the 
pictures  on  the  walls.  "An  opiate  for  me — for  the 
others,"  he  jerked  his  hand  towards  the  window, 
"  the  green  and  gold  sentimentality  of  The  Star  and 
the  Church." 

"  Nonsense — the   country    has   only   begun    to 
live.     Everywhere  there  are  signs " 


298  WAITING 

"  I've  seen  them  so  often — there's  a  monthly 
rose  in  bloom  in  the  garden  outside  now,  in 
December — pretty  illusions." 

"  Illusions  that  will  burst  up  The  Star  some 
day,"  Maurice  said  doggedly. 

"  Youth  !  "  Breslin  said  dryly.  "  Have  more 
coffee  ?  You  are  looking  at  that  mantelpiece — 
picked  it  up  in  an  old  house  in  William  Street. 
Take  my  word  for  it,  young  man,  the  golden  rule 
in  life  is  to  back  the  strongest  side — one  has  power 
— it's  a  pretty  toy — and  those,"  he  waved  his  hand 
again  towards  the  pictures.  "  You've  knocked  your 
head  against  the  Church  once — a  second  knock 
might  be  fatal." 

Maurice  frowned,  and  threw  his  cigarette  into 
the  fire. 

"  Say  it  out,"  Breslin  drawled,  his  lazy  eyes 
gleaming  a  little.  "  You  can  damn  priests  and 
bishops  as  much  as  you  like  in  this  room.  Outside 

— well,  I'm  the  editor  of  The  Star,  and "  His 

eyes  wandered  to  the  table.  He  stretched  out  a 
hand,  took  up  the  book,  and  turned  over  a  few 
leaves.  "  Riders  to  the  Sea,"  he  said,  "  as  strong 
as  anything  in  Aeschylus — and  more  simple.  But 
all  his  plays  are  good.  The  Playboy " 

"Why,  you  damned  it  ten  times  in  your 
paper." 

"  Did  I  ?  "  He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Well, 
I'll  give  you  ten  reasons  for  thinking  it  one  of  the 
best  plays  that  has  yet  come  out  of  Ireland." 

He  spoke  for  three  or  four  minutes  with  some 
enthusiasm,  took  up  the  poker,  tapped  idly  at  a  big 
lump  of  coal  in  the  grate,  stopped  in  the  middle  of 
a  sentence  before  he  had  finished  with  his  first 
reason,  and  said  abruptly — 


WAITING  299 

"  Tell  me  where  you  got  your  faith  ? " 

Maurice  was  taken  aback.  "I  just  believe  the 
country  will  come  right,"  he  said  emphatically. 

"  Yes,  yes — but  why  ?  "  Breslin  said,  leaning 
back  in  his  chair  and  watching  the  fire. 

"  For  a  thousand  reasons,"  Maurice  said. 

When  he  tried  to  put  them  into  words,  they 
sounded  very  thin  in  his  own  ears.  He  looked  at 
Breslin  anxiously  now  and  again,  but  his  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  fire. 

"A  handful  of  jealous  small  farmers  working 
together  and  sinking  their  differences,  an  old  school- 
master with  ideals,  a  priest  with  a  love  of  his  people, 
a  few  women  capable  of  sacrifice,  a  growing  tolerance 
of  the  religious  views  of  others.  It  may  not  seem 
much  to  you  to  build  a  nation  on,"  Maurice  wound 
up,  "but  it  makes  my  faith  unshakable." 

"  A  carpenter's  son  and  a  camel  driver  influenced 
millions,"  Breslin  said  musingly.  "  It  is  the  faith 
itself  that  is  puzzling — the  weakness  or  strength  of 
the  evidence  doesn't  matter  a  rap.  Do  these  people 
share  your  faith  ?  " 

"  They  do." 

"  And  that  brother  of  yours  who  dislikes  The 
Star  ?  A  Leaguer  too,  you  say  ?  Is  he  active  in 
politics  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  The  Star  can  change  its  policy  if  he 
wins  !  It  would  be  interesting  to  run  a  paper  again 
on  lines  one  shouldn't  despise.  But  I  hope  not 
— I  hope  not.  One  might  be  tempted  to  believe, 
and  faith  is  too  harrowing,"  with  a  wry  smile.  He 
poked  the  fire  to  a  blaze.  "  After  all,  Father  Mahon 
drove  you  out,  though  you  had  all  these  people  at 
your  back,"  he  said  slyly. 


300  WAITING 

"  That  can't  happen  in  a  few  years,"  Maurice 
said  hopefully.  "  The  people  want  a  little  more 
courage.  Many  of  them  see  clearly  enough — give 
them  a  little  time  and  they  will  act." 

"  Meanwhile  I  warm  myself  at  the  clerical  fire," 
Breslin  said,  spreading  out  his  hands.  He  changed 
the  conversation,  and  talked  of  poetry. 

Maurice  listened  in  wonder.  Poems  that  he 
vaguely  liked  discovered  new  and  undreamt-of 
beauties  on  Breslin's  lips.  Maurice  forgot  the 
leading  articles  in  The  Star,  the  cynical  view  of  life, 
in  Breslin's  fine  rapture  over  Shelley — something 
in  his  eyes  too,  some  tone  in  his  voice  was  sympa- 
thetic and  sincere.  .  .  . 

A  reference  to  a  folk  tale  led  Maurice  to  speak 
of  Bourneen,  and  of  his  life  there.  Unconsciously 
he  drifted  into  a  full  account  of  his  leaving,  of  Alice, 
of  the  difficulties  about  his  marriage. 

"tDamn  it,"  Breslin  said  irritably,  when  Maurice 
spoke  of  Father  Cafferley.  He  laughed.  "  Poor 
old  CafFerley.  I  wonder  where  he  was  off  to 
at  that  hour — it  was  too  early  for  a  tea  party  in 
some  publican's  back  parlour.  That  light  tenor 
voice  of  his  hasn't  cracked  yet.  It  keeps  him  in  great 
request.  If  you  had  your  clothes  made  by  Scott 

he'd  have  given  you  more  time,  but "  he  looked 

at  Maurice's  clothes.  "Anyhow,  he  didn't  think 
you  worth  his  trouble.  I  don't  know  that  he  could 
do  anything  for  you  in  any  case.  I  tell  you  what 
I'd  do,  if  I  were  so  foolish  as  to  be  getting  married 
and  wasn't  editor  of  The  Star — in  fact,  if  I  were  you  : 
I'd  go  quietly  to  a  registry  office  and  let  all  their 
reverences,  reverend  and  most  reverend,  go  to  hell." 

Maurice  stared  at  him,  a  troubled  look  in  his 
eyes.  "  That  never  struck  me,"  he  said  slowly. 


WAITING  301 

Breslin  was  now  excited.  He  stood  up  and 
walked  to  and  fro,  rumpling  with  his  fingers  the 
thick  locks  of  hair  on  his  forehead. 

"  No,  you  wouldn't  think  of  it.  You  fellows 
who  kick  against  the  tyranny  of  the  clergy  make  me 
sick.  You  talk  and  talk,  and  then  lie  down  meekly 
under  their  most  extravagant  pretensions — you're  all 
afraid  to  fight  them  with  their  own  weapons."  He 
stood  still,  looking  at  the  fire.  After  a  few  seconds 
he  gave  a  low  chuckle.  "  If  I  hadn't  to  sit  frock- 
coated  every  Sunday  under  the  pulpit  in  the  parish 
church  I'd  make  'em  sit  up."  This  seemed  to 
amuse  him  so  much  that  he  laughed  again. 

"  It's  not  fear,"  Maurice  said.  "  Isn't  it  a 
sin  ?  " 

Breslin  looked  at  him  pityingly  through  half- 
closed  lids. 

"  Sin,"  he  said  musingly  :  "  that  opens  up  a  pretty 
discussion — but  it  would  take  half  the  night,"  he 
looked  at  an  old  clock  on  the  mantelpiece,  "  and 
if  you  want  to  catch  the  last  train  we  shouldn't  have 
well  begun  before  you  leave.  A  sin — to  break  that 
trumpery  regulation  about  mixed  marriages  !  After 
all,  the  idea  of  sin  has  a  certain  dignity.  That's 
degrading  it.  This  blessed  dispensation  that  they've 
been  making  such  a  fuss  about  with  you,  sending 
you  from  pillar  to  post  like  a  fool — what  is  it  ? 
Only  the  pope  dispenses,  the  theology  books  say. 
Though  the  fact  is  that  every  bishop — I'm  told  our 
bishop  here  doesn't  take  them,  and  that's  to  his  credit 
— gets  from  Rome  a  lot  of  blank  forms,  like  my  Sun- 
day Zoo  tickets,  and  thenceforward  is  pope  himself 
in  the  matter.  The  play  begins.  The  victim  of  the 
wiles  of  a  Protestant  goes  to  his  parish  priest.  A 
schoolmaster,  of  course,  is  done  for  from  the  start 


302  WAITING 

With  the  Church's  peculiar  notions  of  scandal,  the 
idea  of  a  teacher  marrying  a  Protestant  is  anathema. 
Besides,  there's  no  inducement  to  fleece  a  dependent 
poor  beggar  like  him — he  can  be  got  at  in  other 
ways.  But  suppose  the  applicant  were  well-to-do, 
and,  more  or  less,  independent  of  the  priest  ?  His 
reverence — I'm  speaking  generally,  of  course,  there 
are  notable  exceptions — would  pull  a  long  face.  *  It 
is  a  very  difficult  matter  indeed.  Rome  is  difficult 
of  approach — it  must  be  done  through  the  bishop. 
But  it's  possible,  of  course,  and  I'll  do  my  best 
to  help.'  You  know  the  kind  of  thing.  *  The 
children  must  be  brought  up  Catholics.  You  must 
promise  to  try  to  convert  the  young  lady.'  You'd 
think  religion  was  a  brand  of  tooth-powder  or  a 
style  in  summer  hats.  '  And  you  must  have 
some  reasons,'  the  good  man  would  go  on.  *  I'll 
look  them  up  in  the  theology  book — but  you  can 
leave  them  to  me.  I'll  see  that  they're  all  right.' 
And  then,  at  the  end — remember  it's  the  time  of  a 
man's  life  when  he  has  less  sense  than  an  idiot, 
*  You  will  pay  something  substantial — his  lordship's 
trouble — the  upkeep  of  an  expensive  office  at  the 
Curia — the  pope.  But  bear  clearly  in  mind,  it's 
only  for  secretarial  expenses — the  dispensation  itself 
is  free,  gratis  and  for  nothing.'  That  repetition 
does  the  trick — a  couple  of  penny  stamps  and  a  few 
sheets  of  note-paper  run  up  phenomenally — depends 
on  the  good  father's  knowledge  of  the  bank  balance 
of  the  applicant — twenty  pounds,  fifty,  a  hundred — 
I've  known  more  to  be  paid."  He  rubbed  his 
hands  gleefully.  "  The  humour  of  The  Star  of 
Liberty  pales  before  it." 

Maurice  was  too  indignant  to  see  humour  in 
anything.     "  But  when  he  had  got  rid    of  me   as 


WAITING  303 

teacher — why  didn't  Mahon  get  me  the  dispensation 
then  ?  I'd  have  paid." 

Breslin   shrugged  his  shoulders  and  looked  at 
Maurice  quizzically.     "You  show  a  nice  sense  of 

character  in  those  sketches  of  yours,  but "  he 

gazed  at  the  ceiling.  "  You're  the  type  that  sees 
nothing  where  you're  involved  yourself.  I  don't 
know  Mahon,  but  I  see  him  clearly  in  what  you  told 
me.  No  money — not  anything  you  could  give 
certainly — would  repair  his  wounded  self-love." 

"  The  bishop  then  ?    He's  not  that  kind  ? " 

"  I'll  have  doubts  about  your  being  able  to  do 
those  sketches,"  Breslin  said  gravely.  He  smiled 
with  his  white,  even  teeth.  "This  blindness  might 
wear  off  with  the  ridiculous  fever  that's  on  you — for 
goodness'  sake  get  married  at  once.  Hannigan  !  If 
I  know  any  man  I  know  him — the  diffident,  humble 
manner  covering  the  pride  of  Lucifer.  Run — you'll 
only  just  catch  your  train.  Take  my  advice  about 
the  marriage.  Keep  it  as  quiet  as  you  can — you 
may  get  known  one  day,  and  then  they  might  make 
trouble — though  it's  as  valid  according  to  Church 
law  as  it  is  by  the  law  of  the  land.  As  if  it  made  a 
pin's  difference  in  any  case,"  he  called  after  Maurice 
jeeringly  from  the  door- step. 

By  sprinting  he  just  caught  the  train.  It  jolted 
horribly.  Acrid  smoke  drifted  in  through  the  open 
window.  The  weight  that  oppressed  his  mind  for 
days  had  gone.  The  registry,  of  course,  was  absurd, 
he  said  to  himself.  Breslin  would  have  his  joke. 
No  Catholic  could  go  against  the  rules  or  his 
Church.  .  .  .  He  walked  up  and  down  the  empty 
compartment.  How  should  one  set  about  this 
registry  marriage  ?  He  sat  down  and  drummed 
his  feet  on  the  bare  floor.  What  if  there  was 


304  WAITING 

something  in  the  idea  after  all  ?  He  laughed  at  the 
memory  of  Breslin's  description.  What  would  they 
say  in  Bourneen  ?  No,  he  couldn't  do  it.  Still  it 
was  a  valid  marriage.  He  could  find  out  all  about 
it  in  the  free  library.  His  fingers  tingled  with  cold. 
He  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets.  He  pulled 
out  a  big  door-key  and  glanced  at  it  curiously.  He 
had  forgotten  all  about  that.  The  house  was  waiting. 
Should  he  write  to  Father  Mahon  again  ?  But  that 
was  hopeless.  The  absurd  man,  and  he  could  get 
married  in  spite  of  him.  .  .  .  And  Alice  ?  An  intense 
longing  for  her  overcame  him.  .  .  .  All  the  way 
home  the  objections  to  Breslin's  solution  became 
feebler  and  feebler  .  .  .  they  recurred  as  he  un- 
dressed in  his  cold  room,  but,  always,  he  had  an 
answer  ready.  .  .  . 

At   eleven   next  morning   he   met  Alice  j  at   the 
tram. 

"  What  has  come  over   you  ?      You    look    so 
happy,"  she  said  wonderingly. 
«  I  am." 

He  hurried  her  into  the  tram.  "Where  are  we 
going  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  somewhere,"  he  said  joyfully.  He  inquired 
about  her  work  in  Tyrone,  but  didn't  listen  to  a 
word  she  said.  A  girl  opposite  looked  gloomy. 
He  wondered  why  every  one  wasn't  happy  on  such  a 
glorious  day. 

"  Dundrum,"  she  said  in  a  pleased  voice,  as  he 
took  tickets  at  Harcourt  Street  Station.  "  It's  lucky 
I  brought  sandwiches." 

On  the  mountain  road,  opposite  the  cottage,  she 
said,  "  No  one  has  taken  it  yet." 

He  handed  her  the  key.  "  I  have — we  have 
taken  it,"  he  said,  watching  her  face. 


WAITING  305 

She  looked  from  the  key  to  him,  her  lips  slightly 
parted.  A  deep  blush  slowly  suffused  her  face  and 
neck,  a  tear  overflowed  on  her  eyelid. 

"  Maurice  !  "  her  lips  scarcely  moved  and  her 
eyes  dropped. 

He  kissed  her.     After  a  while  she  looked  up. 

"  But  can  we  ?  "  she  said,  her  lips  trembling. 

He  told  her  about  the  work  for  Breslin,  and  all 
that  had  happened  since.  They  walked  towards  the 
cottage  as  he  spoke.  He  opened  the  door.  In  the 
kitchen  she  listened  without  a  word,  standing  by 
the  window  overlooking  the  sea,  her  eyes  fixed  on 
Howth  head. 

"  So  there's  no  reason  why  we  shouldn't  get 
married  any  day,"  he  wound  up. 

She  sighed  a  little  regretfully. 

"  You're  not  sorry  ?  "  he  said  anxiously. 

<c  No — I'm  so  glad — it  has  a  sad  feeling,"  she 
said,  leaning  her  cheek  against  his  arm.  "  Not  soon 
— not  for  ever  so  long,"  she  said,  standing  away 
from  him.  Sitting  on  the  window  sill,  he  watched 
her  move  about  from  room  to  room. 

"  I'm  glad  you  won't  have  to  promise  to  convert 
me,"  she  called  out.  Afterwards  she  approached 
him  with  a  look  of  grave  concern. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  said  eagerly. 

"  I  think  we'll  do  this  room  with  rush  matting— 
that  greenish  stuff." 

Breslin  was  the  only  guest  invited  to  the  wedding. 
On  the  back  of  an  envelope  he  replied,  "  Certainly 
not.  The  editor  of  The  Star  of  Liberty  discounte- 
nances any  such  wicked  exercise  of  freedom — though 
L.  B.  sends  you  both  his  best  wishes."  A  week 
later  he  wrote  again  :  "  Those  egregious  people  have 


306  WAITING 

been  tinkering  with  their  marriage  laws — some  new 
rot  beginning  *  Ne  Temere.'  To-morrow  I'll  have 
a  leader,  applauding  it,  in  The  Star.  I  haven't  yet 
grasped  its  full  effect.  You  might  read  The  Star 
for  once  and  see  what  you  make  of  the  thing.  In 
any  case  it's  all  the  more  necessary  to  keep  your 
little  affair  quiet." 

"c  Little  affair,'  indeed,"  Alice  said,  tossing  her 
head,  when  she  read  the  letter,  "  we  must  hurry  off 
to  see  those  pots  and  things.  Shall  I  throw  this  in 
the  fire  ? — there's  nothing  in  it." 

Maurice  nodded. 

Within  a  week,  at  eleven  o'clock  one  morning, 
in  a  shabby  registry  office,  dark  with  fog  that  blew 
in  from  the  sea,  under  the  spluttering  flare  of  a  gas 
jet,  they  were  married. 


CHAPTER   XX 

ALICE  stood  for  a  moment  at  the  window  watching 
the  last  of  the  day.  She  lit  a  lamp  on  the  desk  by 
her  side,  but  she  still  lingered,  the  cord  of  the  blind 
in  her  hand,  her  eyes  on  a  silver-grey  patch  of  sky, 
towards  which  a  mass  of  sullen,  black  cloud  was 
slowly  creeping.  She  sighed  and  pulled  down  the 
blind. 

"  Sun  gone  bye-bye,"  a  child  said  solemnly  from 
the  centre  of  the  floor. 

Alice  turned  and  looked  at  her. 

"  Sun  wake  up  again,"  the  child  said,  nodding 
confidentially. 

"  There  now,  Alice,  Maureen  is  teaching  you 
sense,"  Maurice  said  cheerfully  from  the  settle,  on 
which  he  was  stretched,  smoking,  idly  watching  rings 
float  up  to  the  ceiling.  "  Besides,  you  know  it's 
shining  brighter  every  day — there  isn't  a  cloud  any- 
where near  it." 

Maureen  stared  at  him  with  wide-open,  big  blue 
eyes,  her  little  red  lips  pursed  up. 

"  You  little  treasure,"  Alice  said,  sitting  on  the 
floor. 

Maureen's  eyes  brightened.  This  was  some- 
thing she  understood.  "  Mammy  put  dolly  bye-bye. 
Daddy  get  dolly's  bed,"  she  said  imperiously, 
pushing  back  the  golden  hair  that  fell  thick  and 
touzled  over  her  forehead. 


3o8  WAITING 

Maurice  jumped  up  and  fished  out  a  battered 
doll's  bed  from  under  a  table. 

"  Not  daddy,  not  mammy,  only  Maureen  done 
it,"  the  child  said,  taking  possession  of  the  bed  and 
pushing  Maurice  aside.  She  sat  down  and  was 
soon  spreading  sheets  and  blankets  with  much  care, 
then,  with  one  pull,  sweeping  them,  doll  and  all,  on 
to  the  floor.  This  she  repeated  half  a  dozen  times, 
saying  occasionally  "  Maureen  busy,"  while  Alice, 
on  a  low  chair  by  the  side  of  the  open  fire-place, 
watched  her  lovingly. 

"  I  can't  help  feeling  afraid,"  she  said,  "  and  we 
have  been  so  happy — nearly  three  years." 

Maurice,  half  sitting  on  the  table  at  her  back, 
put  out  his  hand  and  fingered  her  hair. 

"  Afraid  of  what  ? "    he  asked. 

"  Of  nothing — of  everything — I  suppose  it's 
foolish — but  I  can't  help  it." 

He  moved  and  stood  in  front  of  the  fire. 

"  The  convention  may  not  choose  me.  Tom 
may  have  been  mistaken — Breslin  is  certain  the 
League  man  will  get  in.  Even  if  I  am  chosen  I 
can  retire.  I'd  far  rather  be  as  I  am,"  he  spoke 
hesitatingly,  with  a  little  catch  in  his  voice,  staring 
at  the  dresser  at  the  end  of  the  room. 

"Dolly  wake  up,"  Maureen  said,  shaking  a 
grimy  faced  doll  violently. 

"  That's  what  you  ought  to  do  with  me,"  Alice 
said,  stroking  his  hand.  She  stood  up.  "  Retire, 
indeed  !  you'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  she  said, 
taking  hold  of  his  sleeve,  her  eyes  flashing.  "  After 
all  your  speaking  and  writing  for  the  last  three 
years,  too." 

"  The  wind  is  nothing  to  you  for  sudden 
changes,"  he  said,  with  a  relieved  laugh. 


WAITING  309 

"  Tom  would  never  think  of  sending  a  telegram," 
she  said,  looking  at  the  clock.  "  It  must  be  all  over 
by  now.  The  evening  papers  might  have  it — Breslin 
will  be  certain  to  know — and  he's  home  to-night. 
You  might  run  down  to  Dundrum  after  supper  ?  " 

"  Me  with  a  chance  of  being  a  Member  of 
Parliament,"  Maurice  said  laughing  boyishly.  "  It 
sounds  too  ridiculous." 

Maureen  stood,  her  little  arms  akimbo,  and  gave 
peal  after  peal  of  laughter. 

"  Maureen  laugh  too,"  she  said,  and  started  off 
again. 

"  There's  no  one  more  fit  to  be  in  Parliament," 
Alice  said  gravely. 

"  Your  mother  is  an  impartial  judge,"  Maurice 
said,  swinging  Maureen  in  his  arms. 

"Mammy  partial  judge — partial  judge,"  Maureen 
crowed. 

"  From  the  lips  of  babes  and  sucklings ? " 

Maurice  said  triumphantly. 

"  But  you  will  run  down,  Maurice  ?  I  can't  sleep 
to-night  till  I  know,"  Alice  said  eagerly. 

The  old  clock  on  the  wall  by  the  dresser  wheezed 
six.  Maureen  clapped  her  hands. 

"  Maureen's  bath.  Only  mammy  bath  me,"  she 
said  sidling  up  to  her  mother.  "  Only  daddy,"  she 
shouted,  rushing  to  him. 

She  superintended  the  bringing  in  of  the  tin  bath 
from  the  scullery,  fussed  round  it  as  it  lay  on  the 
matting  in  front  of  the  fire.  "  Soap  ? "  she  said, 
with  a  distressed  look.  When  this  was  found,  she 
watched  Maurice  take  the  big  pot  of  boiling  water 
off  the  fire  and  empty  it  into  the  bath.  "  Hot — too 
hot,"  she  said  judicially,  her  feet  wide  apart,  her 
hands  clasped  behind  her  knitted  blue  jersey. 


3io  WAITING 

When  Maurice  brought  a  bucket  of  cold  water  from 
the  scullery  she  gave  a  sigh  of  satisfaction.  "  Nice 
and  cold,"  she  said  :  "  only  daddy  bath  Maureen." 

He  took  her  in  his  arms,  but  she  slipped  down 
again.  "  Coat  off — apron,"  she  said  reproachfully. 
He  took  off  his  coat  meekly,  and  put  on  a  flannel 
apron.  Maureen  said  approvingly  "  Sit  in  daddy's 
lap." 

He  was  taking  off  her  shoes  when  a  knock 
sounded  on  the  front  door.  Alice  went  out  to  the 
porch.  Maureen  said  "  postman,"  over  and  over 
again.  Maurice  heard  a  muttered  conversation. 

"  Hurrah,  hurrah  ! "  Alice  said,  rushing  in 
excitedly.  "The  convention  has  selected  you." 

"sHe's  not  elected  yet,"  Breslin  said  dryly, 
following  at  her  heels. 

"Bressy,  Bressy,"  Maureen  shouted. 

"By  nearly  two  to  one — your  own  county  too. 
That's  something  for  Father  Mahon,"  she  added 
maliciously. 

Breslin  gave  her  a  sharp  look  and  muttered  into 
his  beard. 

Maureen  struggled  and  shouted  "  Bressy,  tick- 
tick." 

He  took  his  watch  off  its  chain  and  handed  it  to 
her.  "  Maureen  is  a  wise  woman,"  he  said.  "  She 
ignores  conventions  and  elections  and  all  that  rot." 

"  Only  Bressy  bath  me,"  Maureen  said  empha- 
tically. 

A  faint  blush  tinged  the  pallid  cheeks  above  his 
beard.  "  I  never  even  saw  a  child  in  a  bath,"  he 
said,  with  a  helpless  look  at  his  immaculate  clothes. 

"  The  water  is  getting  cold.  It's  either  you  or 
Maurice — I'm  nowhere  when  there's  a  man  about," 
Alice  said. 


WAITING  311 

Maureen,  who  was  now  cuddling  round  Breslin's 
neck,  said  with  a  defiant  look  in  her  little  rebellious 
face,  "  Only  Bressy  bath  me." 

"  She  is  so  wise,"  Alice  said  demurely. 

Breslin,  following  Maureen's  minute  instructions 
donned  the  apron,  took  off  his  coat,  turned  up  the 
cuffs  of  his  shirt  and  struggled  with  her  buttons  and 
garments.  With  a  set  face  he  laid  her  at  last  in  the 
bath.  Her  first  kick  sent  a  huge  splash  over  his 
shirt  front.  She  crowed  with  delight.  Afterwards, 
it  was  "  Only  Bressy  feed  Maureen,"  and  "  Only 
Bressy  put  Maureen  bye-bye."  She  knelt  in  her 
cot,  her  hands  over  her  eyes,  "  Gentle  Jesus  meek 
and  mild,"  she  said  brokenly.  She  peeped  through 
her  fingers.  "  Bressy  not  kneel  on  toe-toes,"  she 
complained  anxiously.  He  knelt  down.  She  began 
a  prayer  again.  "  Bressy  say  it,"  she  said  insis- 
tently. When  he  came  out  from  the  bedroom  he 
was  wiping  his  brow  with  his  handkerchief. 

"  If  you've  half  her  grit,  you'll  beat  us,"  he  said 
to  Maurice. 

"  Beat  you  ?  "  Maurice  said.  "  Where  does  the 
contest  come  in  ?  You  can't  go  back  on  the  con- 
vention. There  won't  be  a  Unionist  candidate,  so 
I'll  have  a  walk  over." 

"  Get  me  a  looking-glass  like  a  good  fellow," 
Breslin  said,  a  faint  smile  on  his  lips. 

Maurice  lit  a  candle  and  led  the  way  into  the 
second  bedroom  off  the  kitchen.  He  left  Breslin 
there,  and  coming  back  to  the  kitchen  lowered  a 
small  pot  of  potatoes,  already  simmering  on  the 
crook,  nearer  to  the  fire.  In  a  few  minutes  Breslin 
appeared,  stroking  his  beard,  all  traces  of  his  en- 
counter with  Maureen  gone.  He  threw  himself 
into  a  rush  armchair.  With  an  ironic  smile,  he 


3i2  WAITING 

watched  Maurice  emptying  the  bath  and  tidying  up 
the  room. 

"  They've  been  on  to  me  already  by  telephone," 
he  said,  "  and  I've  been  in  town.  I  motored  here." 

«  Who  ? " 

"The  League  people — the  head  office." 

"  It  was  their  own  convention,  under  their  own 
rules.  They  were  beaten.  They  may  as  well 
accept  defeat  gracefully,"  Maurice  said  lightly. 

"  I'm  going  to  throw  suspicion  on  the  Liscannow 
convention  in  Monday's  Star,"  Breslin  said,  lighting 
a  cigarette.  He  rolled  the  smoke  luxuriously  in  his 
mouth,  emitted  a  series  of  perfect  rings,  and  watched 
them  expand  with  one  eye  shut. 

"  Why,  only  this  morning  you  patted  it  on  the 
back.  What's  this  you  called  it  ? — in  the  choicest 
Star  language — *  a  parliament  of  free  and  indepen- 
dent citizens,  with  the  authority  of  a  united  people 
behind  it,'  and  the  usual  trimmings  l  faith — father- 
land— patriotism — toleration.'  ' 

"  On  Monday  it  will  be  suspect.  About  the 
middle  of  the  week  we  shall  probably  say  that  it  was 
rigged  by  a  malignant  anti-national  faction,"  Breslin 
said,  blowing  more  rings. 

"  You're  colossal,"  Maurice  said  in  mock 
admiration. 

"  Hush,"  Breslin  said,  holding  up  his  hand. 

From  Maureen's  bedroom  came  the  low  croon- 
ing of  Alice's  voice,  with,  now  and  again,  the  child's 
treble,  muffled,  as  if  taking  the  note  half  asleep. 

"  It  has  a  charm,"  Breslin  said  gently,  after  a 
few  minutes. 

Maurice  poured  some  water  in  to  a  saucepan  of 
eggs  and  placed  it  by  the  fire. 

"The  truth   is,"   Breslin   said,  "our  organizer 


WAITING  313 

down  there  has  been  asleep.  We're  going  to  slough 
him.  He  was  so  confident  of  a  walk-over  that 
he  didn't  take  the  usual  means " 

"  So  it  really  was  a  free  convention,"  Maurice 
said,  interested. 

"  Always,  when  we  lose,  the  convention  was 
rigged  by  the  other  side,"  Breslin  said,  with  a  shrug. 

"  You  give  credit  to  us — I  suppose  you  call  us 
the  other  side — for  your  own  virtues  :  that  is  too 
generous,"  Maurice  said  ironically. 

"  I  won't  bandy  terms." 

He  listened  again.  The  crooning  still  continued, 
but  in  a  lower  tone.  The  child's  voice  came  fainter, 
and  only  at  long  intervals. 

"  Shut  that  door — it's  a  little  ajar,"  he  whispered. 
"  I  don't  want  Mrs.  Blake  to  hear  us." 

Maurice  crossed  the  room  on  tiptoe  and  shut 
the  door.  When  he  returned  to  the  fire-place,  he 
looked  inquiringly  at  Breslin. 

"  This  is  going  to  be  a  fight  without  gloves," 
Breslin  said  seriously.  "  Our  people  are  frightened. 
They'll  stop  at  nothing.  They've  organizations 
enough,  but  the  people  are  slipping  away.  They're 
weak  in  the  towns " 

"  They've  got  the  publicans  and  slum-owners, 
and — the  priests,  in  so  far  it  suits  the  interest  of 
the  Church,"  Maurice  interrupted  dryly. 

Breslin  waved  this  aside.  "  The  country  people 
are  not  as  solid  as  they  used  to  be.  Then  there  are 
all  you  foolish  people  who  make  a  hash  of  thinking 
for  yourselves,"  he  pursed  his  lips  contemptuously. 

"  The  Star  talks  enough  of  liberty  and  toleration. 
I've  often  told  you,  Louis,  that  some  day  the  people 
would  attach  some  real  meaning  to  those  words. 
You  talk  of  liberty  and  tolerance  and  hound  down 


3 14  WAITING 

every  one  who  refuses  to  bend  under  your  narrow, 
bigoted  tyranny." 

"That's  very  crude,"  Breslin  said,  lighting 
another  cigarette.  "  Not  good  enough  even  for 
a  leading  article  in  The  Star.  But  we're  wandering 
from  the  point.  I  advise  you  to  withdraw  your 
name,"  he  said  earnestly.  "  Don't  stand  for  the 
Liscannow  division." 

Maurice  stared  at  him,  then  laughed.  "  Why, 
I'm  as  good  as  in,"  he  said  confidently. 

"  The  League  will  declare  the  convention 
invalid,  and  start  a  candidate  of  its  own." 

"They'll  only  show  their  weakness,"  Maurice 
said  laughing. 

"Our  people  never  liked  you.  You  weren't  a 
thick-and-thin  party  man.  They  hate  those  articles 
of  yours  in  The  Dawn.  They  don't  want  people 
to  think — only  to  vote  straight.  They're  furious 
with  you  for  beating  the  official  candidate.  Yet 

they'd   probably  let  you  in  unopposed  only " 

he  stroked  his  beard,  and  hesitated.  "The  Church 
will  be  against  you,"  he  continued  with  a  grimace  : 
"  a  dismissed  teacher  ;  out  of  forty  priests  at  the  con- 
vention only  six  supported  you.  We've  all  the 
details  already,  you  see." 

"  I  won,  nevertheless,"  Maurice  said  firmly. 

"  You  don't  see  any  other  complications  ? " 
Breslin  said  gently. 

"  I  suppose  there'll  be  the  usual  rough  and 
tumble  of  an  election.  I  don't  mind  a  straight 

fight — '; 

"  But  it  won't  be  a  straight  fight."  Breslin 
pulled  an  orange  slip  out  of  his  pocket.  "  They 
got  it  at  the  League  office  five  minutes  after  the 
result  of  the  convention — a  telegram  from  Father 


WAITING  315 

Mahon.  *  Search  registry  offices  of  Dublin  for 
record  of  marriage  of  Maurice  Blake  and  Alice 
Barton  about  three  years  ago.' ' 

Maurice  walked  up  and  down  in  front  of  the 
fire-place  with  a  set  face  and  clenched  hands. 

"  Will  you  use  that  weapon  ?  "  he  said  bitterly. 

"  I — oh  ! — damn  it,  there's  some  limit,"  Breslin 
said  sharply.  "No — 7  won't  use  it.  The  Star  wont 
either — 1  told  them  at  the  League  office  it  wouldn't 
be  wise  to  mix  our  man  up  with  it  in  the  Press,"  he 
added  dryly,  "  in  view  of  the  action  this  fellow 
Mahon  is  likely  to  take.  It  told  with  them — 
danger  of  a  charge  of  undue  influence,  etc.  They 
scented  the  truth  at  once — I  didn't  tell  them.  They 
don't  half  like  the  whole  thing  in  a  way — plays  into 
the  hands  of  the  enemy.  But  you  must  be  beaten 
by  fair  means  or  foul.  The  organization  couldn't 
stand  a  defeat.  They're  chuckling  for  all  they're 
worth  ;  but  they'll  let  Mahon  and  his  friends  do 
the  dirty  work.  Oh  yes,  the  weapon  will  be  used, 
and  used  with  a  vengeance.  Don't  face  it,  Maurice. 
I  don't  mind  for  yourself — but  your  wife,  and  the 
child." 

Maurice  stood  opposite  the  fire,  his  eyes  on  the 
pot  which  had  now  begun  to  boil.  He  lifted,  with 
the  poker,  the  lid,  which  was  being  forced  up  and 
down  by  the  steam. 

"It  had  to  come  some  time,"  he  said  musingly. 
"  Do  you  know,  I've  hardly  thought  of  that  Ne  Temere 
decree  since  a  few  days  before  I  was  married — you 
wrote  to  me,  you  remember  ? — never  as  affecting 
myself.  Alice  and  Maureen  did  you  say  ?  Maureen 
will  hardly  mind.  And  Alice — I'd  like  to  keep  her 
out  of  it.  It'll  be  pretty  bad,  I  suppose  ? "  he 
smiled  drearily. 


3r6  WAITING 

"  Mud,  garbage,  filth,"  Breslin  said  emphatically. 

Maurice  leant  his  forehead  against  the  beam 
across  the  fireplace. 

"  And  this  is  religion,"  he  said  in  a  dull,  wonder- 
ing tone. 

"  The  holier  the  name  the  better  for  leading  the 
hosts  of  hell  to  battle,"  Breslin  said  grimly.  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  laughed.  "If  one  only 
sees  it  the  right  way  it's  as  humorous  as  The 
Star  of  Liberty.  Though  I  doubt  if  the  poor  devils 
we  trample  on  have  much  sense  of  humour  left  in 
them,"  he  added,  looking  at  Maurice  through  half- 
closed  lids.  "  Have  sense,  Maurice,"  he  went  on 
airily,  waving  his  cigarette.  "  You  make  a  fetish  of 
names — liberty,  toleration,  religion,  principle — what 
are  they?  A  mirage.  Good  names  enough  on  a 
banner  to  rouse  the  mob,  but 

He  pitched  his  cigarette  into  the  fire,  and  flicked 
carefully  some  ash  off  his  trousers. 

"I'll  go  down  to  Liscannow  on  Monday," 
Maurice  said  coldly. 

"And  Mrs.  Blake?  You'll  subject  her  to  all 
this  ? " 

Maurice  smiled  slowly.  "  Oh,  she  believes  in 
those  old  names  too,"  he  said,  lifting  the  pot  from 
the  fire.  He  took  it  to  the  scullery,  poured  out 
the  water,  covered  the  potatoes  with  a  cloth,  and 
stood  the  pot  beside  the  fire. 

"  They're  done  to  a  turn.  You'll  stay  to  supper, 
Louis  ? "  he  said  heartily.  "  The  eggs  are  new 
laid." 

"That's  more  than  they'll  be  at  Liscannow," 
Breslin  said  dryly.  "  You're  mad  of  course — the 
gods  are  sometimes  merciful  to  those  they  are 
about  to  destroy.  If  it  weren't  for  your  wife,  I'd 


WAITING  317 

rather  enjoy  it."  He  stared  at  the  fire,  and  his  eyes 
gleamed  a  little.  "  It's  a  chance  of  finding  out  the 
power  of  these  fellows — the  sodality,  the  pulpit, 
the  confessional,  and  all  that — in  an  election." 

"  Your  friends  !  "  Maurice  said  mockingly. 

"  They're  of  use — for  the  moment.  They  play 
their  own  game  though.  Take  that  damn  Ne 
Temere.  They  drop  it  on  us  just  at  the  moment 
when  we're  straining  our  lungs  shouting  *  tolera- 
tion.' They  knife  us  with  one  hand  and  double 
their  subscriptions  to  our  funds  with  the  other. 
Even  I'm  in  doubt  sometimes  whether  they're  using 
us  or  we're  using  them." 

Maurice  drew  a  table  in  front  of  the  fire. 
"  You're  a  great  help  to  a  man,  Louis,"  he  said 
gravely.  "Whenever  I'm  inclined  to  waver  you 
set  me  right.  There  must  be  a  lot  of  good  in  the 
people  since  you  fellows  haven't  killed  it  long  ago. 
'Twill  win  out,  yet.  I— 

Alice  opened  the  bedroom  door  and  shut  it 
behind  her  quietly. 

"  She's  sound  asleep  for  the  night.  You  can 
talk  away — there's  no  fear  of  disturbing  her,"  she 
said,  taking  a  cloth  from  a  drawer  of  the  dresser  and 
laying  it  on  the  table.  They  both  watched  her 
silently. 

"  Eggs,  potatoes,  butter,  a  cold  apple  tart,"  she 
said,  as  they  sat  down  to  supper,  "  and  I'll  make  you 
some  coffee  afterwards." 

"  Excellent,"  Breslin  said  somewhat  too  fervently, 
checking  a  rueful  pursing  of  his  lips.  "  It's  so 
peaceful  and  quiet  up  here,"  breaking  the  top  off  an 
egg — "  ideal.  I  dream  some  day  of  giving  up  politics 
and  finding  some  such  retreat  as  this.  That  husband 
of  yours,  Mrs.  Blake,  doesn't  know  when  he's 


318  WAITING 

happy."  Alice  looked  round  the  cosy  living-room 
wistfully.  (i  And  of  all  the  purposeless  worries  of 
life,"  he  continued,  "Parliament  is  the  worst — a 
man  can  do  nothing  there." 

"  Maurice  can,"  she  said  eagerly,  her  eyes 
brightening.  "  He'll  have  a  chance  of  doing  the 
things  he  has  been  saying  for  years.  Now  that  he'll 
be  inside  the  party — but  I'll  spare  his  feelings," 
looking  at  Maurice  affectionately.  "You  can't 
suppress  his  speeches  in  future  in  The  Star"  she 
added,  turning  to  Breslin  with  a  smile. 

"  There's  nothing  we're  not  capable  of  doing  in 
The  Star"  he  said  calmly. 

"  Some  day  I  know  you'll  see  the  truth,"  she 

said  simply.  "  Maureen  trusts  you.  You " 

She  stopped  abruptly  and  blushed. 

"  It  shows  how  weak  is  the  evidence  of  faith," 
he  drawled.  "Tell  her,  Maurice,"  and  he  busied 
himself  with  his  egg. 

She  listened  in  silence  while  Maurice  spoke, 
for  the  most  part  with  her  eyes  bent  on  her  plate. 
Once  she  looked  at  the  door  of  Maureen's  bedroom 
for  a  moment,  and  once  at  Maurice's  face,  as  if 
interested  in  his  appearance  rather  than  in  what  he 
was  saying. 

"  But  we  are  married,"  she  said  in  a  faltering 
voice,  when  he  finished.  She  looked  helplessly  at 
Maurice. 

"For  ever,"  he  said  quietly. 

"  Not  only  in  the  eyes  of  the  law,  but  before 
God?" 

"  Father  Mahon  will  say  you  are  not ;  people 
will  believe  him  and  say  things  it  will  hurt  you  to 
hear,"  Breslin  said  gently. 

She  did  not  take  her  eyes  off  Maurice's  face. 


WAITING  319 

"  Before  God  ?  Maurice,"  she  repeated  solemnly, 
"  you  believe  it  ? " 

"  As  firmly  as  that  I  live." 

Her  eyes  flashed.  She  turned  to  Breslin.  "It 
doesn't  matter  to  us  what  these  people  say — now," 
she  said  proudly. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

FOR  some  miles,  as  the  train  wound  sinuously 
through  the  valley,  Maurice  had  been  dreamily  re- 
cognizing familiar  objects — Slieve  Mor,  at  different 
angles  ;  Greenawn  Abbey,  which  he  had  once 
visited  with  Driscoll. 

"  It  seems  only  yesterday,"  he  said.  "  But 
three  years  is  a  long  time — I  wonder  what  it  will  all 
be  like." 

"  Mountain,"  Maureen  said  gleefully,  standing 
on  the  seat,  her  face  pressed  against  the  glass  of  the 
window. 

"  I  dare  say  it  will  be  a  hard  pull,"  Maurice 
said,  with  a  short  laugh. 

"  Your  work  in  The  Dawn  will  tell,"  Alice  said 
cheerfully.  "  Remember  what  Tom  said  in  his 
letter — how  enthusiastic  those  men  at  the  convention 
were  about  it.  You've  worked  hard  for  a  great 
ideal  and  now  you'll  see  the  fruit — not  a  Catholic 
Ireland  nor  a  Protestant  Ireland,  but  an  Ireland  to 
which  all  men,  no  matter  what  their  creed,  can  give 
their  best  service  without  fear  of  being  victimized 
in  the  name  of  religion." 

"  It  sounds  like  a  copybook  maxim,"  Maurice 
said  with  a  shrug. 

"  It  appealed  to  the  convention — you'll  see  they'll 
act  on  it  too.  The  country  is  sick  of " 

A  great  cheer  interrupted  her,  and  the  opening 


WAITING  321 

bars  of  "  See  the  Conquering  Hero  comes,"  on  a 
strident  brass  band. 

"  What's  up  ?  "  Maurice  said,  peering  through 
the  gathering  dusk.  "  That's  the  Liscannow  goods 
store.  We'll  be  in  in  a  minute." 

"  It's  you,  of  course,"  Alice  said  excitedly  :  then, 
more  sedately,  and  a  little  complacently,  "  It's  very 
different  from  your  going  away." 

As  the  train  moved  slowly  along  the  platform 
the  crowd  cheered.  Flares  were  lit  and  waved 
wildly.  The  band  played  louder  and  louder,  deter- 
mined to  be  heard  above  the  din. 

"There  he  is."  "  That's  him  I  tell  you,  with  the 
woman  and  the  child."  "  The  new  member  for 
ever,"  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth. 

The  door  was  wrenched  open.  Tom,  red  in  the 
face  and  laughing  shrilly,  gripped  Maurice's  hand 
and  said — 

"  It's  not  bad  for  a  start.  The  hint  of  opposition 
in  The  Star  this  morning  put  great  heart  into  the 
people.  Keep  back  there,  will  ye  ?  "  to  the  crowd. 
"  Would  ye  be  frightening  the  child  ?  " 

The  band  stopped.  Maureen  clapped  on  the 
window.  "  More  show — more  show — more  music," 
she  said  eagerly,  watching  the  swaying  of  the  flares. 

"  Bedad,  she'll  be  making  a  speech  next — my 
own  boy,  and  he  older,  hasn't  the  courage  of  a 
rabbit  in  him,"  Tom  said  in  astonishment. 

The  band  began  to  play  again,  but  it  was  beaten 
down  with  cries  of  "  The  addresses."  "  Speech — 
speech."  Dozens  of  hands  were  stretched  into  the 
compartment  and  seized  Maurice's  hand  or  arm  or 
coat-tail,  or  Alice's  hands  indifferently.  There  were 
shouts  of  welcome,  and  cheers  for  The  Dawn  and 
Maurice  Blake. 


322  WAITING 

"  Clear  the  way  there  for  Dr.  Fitzpatrick  that's 
reading  the  address  on  the  part  of  the  town,"  some 
one  called  out. 

"  For  town  and  country  you  might  say,"  another 
said. 

"  Aye,  aye." 

A  stout,  florid-faced,  clean-shaven  man,  with  a 
severe  mouth  and  twinkling  blue  eyes,  elbowed  his 
way  to  the  front.  He  stood  on  the  footboard  and 
waved  a  sheet  of  blue  foolscap  at  the  crowd. 

"The  train  can't  be  kept  here  all  night,"  he  said 
good-humouredly,  when  he  had  secured  something 
approaching  silence,  "  and  there's  a  lady  and  a  child 
tired  out  after  a  long  journey.  I'll  just  present  this 
address — I've  half  a  dozen  more  in  my  pocket.  Mr. 
Blake  can  read  them  at  his  leisure,  and  we'll  have 
his  speech  at  the  Mechanics'  Institute.  Run  off  now 
and  form  the  procession.  Ireland  and  Liscannow, 
and  Mr.  Blake  for  ever." 

The  crowd  cheered  and  made  for  the  gates. 
Maureen  gazed  wistfully  after  the  vanishing  torches 
and  sighed.  Dr.  Fitzpatrick  shook  hands  heartily 
with  Alice  and  Maurice,  saying  a  little  conde- 
scendingly— 

"  You're  a  great  man  now,  Mr.  Blake.  I'm  sure 
we're  all  very  glad — very  glad  indeed." 

A  small  group  of  Bourneen  people  greeted 
Maurice  timidly  when  he  stepped  out  of  the  train. 

"Why,  mother  !  "  he  said  kissing  her. 

"  Oh,  Maurice  agra,  and  sure  we  didn't  like  to 
intrude,"  she  said,  half-frightened. 

"  Your  father'd  be  here  as  well  as  the  rest  only 
he's  stiff  at  home  with  the  rheumatics.  There  isn't 
a  bit  a  jealousy  of  you  in  the  whole  townland,  nor 
in  the  parish  as  far  as  I  can  hear.  It's  great  entirely, 


WAITING  323 

glory  be  to  God,  and  'tis  I'm  beholden  to  all  the 
people,  neighbours  and  strangers  alike,  and  the 
torches  and  the  band,  not  to  mention  Dr.  Fitzpatrick 
himself." 

"  Come,  come,  Mr.  Blake,"  Dr.  Fitzpatrick  in- 
terrupted sharply.  "  The  carriage  is  waiting — oh,  is 
that  you,  Mrs.  Blake  ?  Your  mother,  of  course. 
Oh,  yes.  How  is  Mike's  rheumatism  ? " 

"  Finely,  thank  you,  doctor — thanks  be  to  God 
and  you,"  Mrs.  Blake  said. 

But  Dr.  Fitzpatrick  had  rushed  off,  and  was 
trying  to  detach  Alice  and  Maureen  from  Mrs. 
Tom,  Mrs.  Crawford,  and  Mrs.  Jim  Reardon. 

"  There'll  be  time  enough  for  all  this,"  he  said 
fussily.      "You   really  must  come,   Mrs.    Blake— 
the  people'll  be  getting  impatient." 

"  Stop,  Maurice,  stop,  Alice,  stop,  doctor  agra," 
Mrs.  Blake  shouted  after  them  excitedly,  when,  at  last, 
they  were  on  their  way  to  the  gate.  "  If  we  weren't 
forgetting  old  Master  Driscoll,  and  he  within  in  the 
waiting-room,  and  he  that  failing  that  Mrs.  Hinnissey 
had  to  stay  and  mind  him." 

"Really,  Mr.  Blake,  I  must  insist,"  Dr.  Fitz- 
patrick said.  He  stamped  his  foot  angrily  as 
Maurice,  with  Maureen  in  his  arms,  and  Alice  dis- 
appeared into  the  waiting-room. 

Driscoll  held  out  a  bandaged  hand  to  Maurice, 
and  looked  pathetically  at  Alice. 

"  They've  grand  rooms  taken  for  ye  at  Leary's 
Hotel,  I'm  told,  and  both  sides  of  your  own  people 
have  a  place  ready  for  ye — but — but 

"  Couldn't  you  put  us  up,  Mr.  Driscoll  ?  "  Alice 
said  with  a  smile. 

"  There,  now,  what  did  I  tell  you,  master  ? " 
Mrs.  Hinnissey  said  triumphantly. 


324  WAITING 

"  Maurice — Mr.  Blake  I  ought  to  say,  only  I'm 
forgetting  my  good  manners — and  you  too,  ma'am, 
and  the  child,  'tis  ye  all  are  heartily  welcome. 
Didn't  he  send  in  this  morning,"  she  whispered  with 
a  nod  at  Driscoll,  "  to  Mac's  shop  for  a  beddeen, 
fitted  out  with  the  best  of  everything,  for  the  child 
to  sleep  in.  Sure  'tis  his  heart'd  be  broken  entirely 
if  ye  went  anywhere  else." 

Driscoll  laid  his  hand  on  Maureen,  who  was 
staring  at  him  solemnly. 

"  I  brought  a  covered  car  to  keep  the  wind  off 
the  child,"  he  said  brokenly. 

"Now,  Mrs.  Blake— really,"  Dr.  Fitzpatrick 
said  from  the  door. 

"  Maurice  must  go  alone — I'm  going  straight 
home  with  Mr.  Driscoll,"  she  said  decisively. 

Fitzpatrick  frowned  and  expostulated,  but  she  was 
firm.  "  Women  have  no  sense  of  public  duty — or 
of  effect,"  he  muttered,  leading  Maurice  to  a  waiting 
carriage.  "A  child,  too,  always  looks  well  in  a 
procession  and  arouses  sympathy.  That  old  man 
has  a  bad  heart — he  ought  to  be  in  bed." 

"  All  the  more  reason  why  my  wife  should  see 
him  home — besides,  the  child  is  tired,"  Maurice  said. 
"  Capital  !  "  Fitzpatrick  said,  rubbing  his  hands. 
"  Excellent  for  the  reporters.  I'll  make  a  point  of 
it  in  explaining  Mrs.  Blake's  absence.  A  mother's 
anxiety — excellent." 

They  had  some  difficulty  in  getting  into  the 
dilapidated  landau.  The  band  had  struck  up  again 
and  the  horses  were  restive. 

"  Hold  on  to  them  like  blue  blazes — if  they  get 
their  heads  they'll  make  smithereens  of  Thade  Carty 
and  the  big  drum,"  the  diminutive  coachman,  in 
a  battered  silk  hat  and  an  old  livery  coat,  several 


WAITING 


325 


sizes  too  large  for  him,  cried  out  to  the  small 
mob  clinging  desperately  to  the  shafts  and  reins. 
"  Let  ye  spring  in  doctor  and  be  starting  the  band 
and  the  nags'll  follow  quiet  enough." 

An  irregular  troop  of  torch-bearers  led  the  pro- 
cession. The  band  followed.  Then  came  the 
candidate's  carriage,  and  more  torch-bearers  behind. 
A  yelling  crowd  rilled  the  roadway  on  both  sides. 
Maurice's  head  was  in  a  whirl.  He  seemed  to 
think  of  a  dozen  things  at  once  :  how  ridiculous 
it  was  to  be  seated  in  this  grand  carriage  (it 
creaked  and  swayed  and  lurched  like  a  ship  in  a 
rough  sea)  ;  of  Driscoll  and  Alice  and  the  child  ; 
of  the  friendly  Fitzpatrick  whom  he  had  known 
for  years,  but  who,  hitherto,  had  ignored  him 
outside  the  brief  moments  of  professional  visits. 
Here  and  there  in  the  crowd  he  recognized  a  face, 
Hinnissey,  Jim  Reardon,  Tom.  Their  friendly 
grins,  though  distorted  by  the  curious  lights  and 
shadows  of  the  torches,  gave  him  a  feeling  of  relief. 
Had  he  only  dreamt  of  that  telegram  and  of  the 
cryptic  leader  in  to-day's  Star  ?  He  had  feared  dis- 
trust and  suspicion,  and  here,  on  every  side,  were 
friendly  and  enthusiastic  faces. 

"  There  is  no  other  candidate  ? "  he  said. 

"That's  what  I  can't  make  out,"  Fitzpatrick 
said  in  a  cautious  whisper.  "There's  all  sorts  of 
hugger-muggering  going  on.  As  a  rule,  I'm  on  the 
end  of  every  wire,  but  I  must  admit  I'm  a  bit  at 
sea  in  this.  At  twelve  o'clock  mass  yesterday  a 
general  mission  through  the  diocese  was  announced, 
to  begin  the  Sunday  following  the  day  we  expect 
you  to  be  nominated.  'Twas  the  first  any  one  heard 
of  it.  I'd  make  nothing  of  it,  only  Galey,  the  post- 
master, said  to  me  coming  out,  with  a  nod  and  a 


326  WAITING 

wink,  cLook  out  for  squalls,  doctor  — your  man 
isn't  in  yet.'  I  tried  to  get  more  out  of  him — 
there's  nothing  he  doesn't  know  with  his  nose  in 
every  telegram, — but  he  wouldn't  blab  another 
word.  He's  on  the  other  side,  more's  the  pity,  or 
he'd  be  sure  to  be  more  friendly.  You  haven't  any 
inkling  yourself?" 

A  loud  burst  of  cheering  opposite  an  illuminated 
house  diverted  the  doctor's  attention. 

"  There  again,"  he  said,  "  see  !  I'm  the  only 
house  illuminated  in  that  row.  Not  a  candle  in 
Duggan's  windows,  the  chairman  of  the  urban 
council,  you  probably  know  ?  He  was  against  you 
at  the  convention,  but  the  big  vote  on  your  side 
brought  him  round.  He  promised  me  last  night 
he'd  light  up,  and  be  on  the  platform  to  meet  you. 
And  there's  his  house  as  dark  as  hell,  and  he  hasn't 
been  at  the  station."  He  stared  at  the  back  of  the 
driver  with  a  frown. 

Fitzpatrick's  spirits  revived  as  the  procession 
passed  through  the  main  street.  About  one  house 
in  three  was  illuminated  with  one  or  two  rows  of 
guttering  candles  to  each  window. 

"  It's  not  bad— not  bad,"  he  said.  "  You're 
only  middling  strong  in  the  best  streets — you're  not 
sound  on  the  drink  question,  you  see.  I  looked  up 
your  writings  in  The  Dawn  to  try  and  find  some- 
thing that'd  appeal  to  a  publican.  Between  you  and 
me,  it's  well  for  you  that  they  only  read  The  Star,  or 
they'd  be  even  stronger  against  you." 

A  crowd  in  front  of  an  unlighted  house  booed 
lustily.  Discordant  brass  instruments  brayed  through 
the  open  windows. 

"  Timmins  for  ever.  Down  with  Blake,"  rose 
in  a  concerted  shout  above  the  din. 


WAITING  327 

"  What  the  devil  do  they  mean  by  that  ? " 
Fitzpatrick  asked  excitedly. 

A  rotten  egg  broke  on  his  hat.  A  paper  bag 
of  flour,  catching  the  driver's  hat  on  the  way, 
enveloped  Maurice  in  white.  The  torches  in  front 
wavered.  The  band  stopped  playing.  Instruments 
were  gripped  like  clubs.  Fitzpatrick  stood  up  and 
shouted  in  a  stentorian  voice,  "  Don't  break  order, 
boys — play  up  the  band — take  no  notice  of  the 
loafers — quick  march."  These  orders  were  echoed 
by  other  excited  voices.  After  a  few  minutes' 
indecision,  during  which  volleys  of  flour  and  eggs 
came  from  the  darkened  building,  the  procession 
moved  on  to  the  strains  of  "  God  save  Ireland  " 
and  the  jeers  and  boos  of  the  crowd  on  the  side-walk. 

Fitzpatrick  wiped  his  hat  gingerly  with  a  hand- 
kerchief, saying,  "The  Erinites — that's  their  hall 
— aren't  going  to  take  their  physic  lying  down 
then.  Damn  that  egg — 'twas  a  year  old  if  'twas 
a  day — and  the  hand  that  fired  it.  So  they  have 
poor  old  Timmins  still  in  their  eye.  I  don't  deny 
he's  a  great  orator — but  he  has  to  be  primed  up 
for  it.  He's  not  worth  a  damn  sober,  and  a  week's 
speechifying  always  lands  him  in  the  horrors.  It's 
odd  how  it  takes  him — an  army  of  flies  attacking 
his  face,  and  pigs  eating  him  from  the  boots  up— 
always  the  same  way — very  interesting  to  medical 
science." 

Maurice  was  depressed  and  disgusted.  How 
many  of  his  supporters  were  like  Fitzpatrick  ?  He 
had  pictured  them  so  differently.  He  recognized 
a  boat-builder  whom  he  used  to  know.  He  held 
out  his  hand  and  Tracy  shook  it  silently.  His 
cordial  grip,  and  the  look  of  quiet  enthusiasm  in  his 
clean-cut  face  made  Maurice  feel  better.  He  began 


328  WAITING 

to  scan  the  crowd  closely.  His  spirits  rose.  Here 
and  there  was  a  face  with  an  ideal  and  capable  of 
fighting  for  it. 

When  the  carriage  stopped  at  the  Mechanics' 
Hall  the  crowd  shouted  itself  hoarse.  Ten  or 
twelve  men  accompanied  Maurice  to  the  first  floor 
room  from  which  he  was  to  speak.  He  knew 
Dr.  Grace,  Tracy,  the  captain  of  the  county  football 
team — a  clean-shaven,  tongue-tied  blacksmith,  with 
a  strong  jaw,  whose  name  he  forgot,  a  young 
solicitor  named  Duffy,  and  Healy,  the  big  draper. 
They  had  all  been  active  in  the  Gaelic  League  or 
in  the  athletic  association.  He  was  a  little  surprised 
to  see  Foster  and  Taylor,  two  Protestant  shop- 
keepers. He  knew  they  were  in  sympathy  with 
the  language  movement,  but  he  had  always  under- 
stood that  they  were  Unionist  in  politics.  Taylor 
laughed  as  they  shook  hands. 

"You're  wondering  what  I'm  doing  in  this 
galley,"  he  said  :  and  added  gravely,  "  If  your 
views  in  The  Dawn  are  to  be  Nationalist  politics, 
I'm  a  Nationalist — and  so  are  most  of  the  Unionists 
here." 

"  Come  now,  Blake,  the  people  are  getting 
impatient,"  Fitzpatrick  said  fussily. 

"  Let  them  have  it  straight  from  the  shoulder," 
Tom  whispered. 

"  Home  Rule  and  black  porter,"  a  bibulous 
voice  shouted  from  the  crowd  as  Maurice  opened 
his  lips. 

"  No,"  he  said,  holding  up  a  hand  for  silence  ; 
"  but  Home  Rule  and  hard  work.  We  shout  for 
freedom,  for  the  right  to  manage  our  own  affairs, 
for  a  Parliament.  What  are  we  prepared  to  do 
with  this  power  when  we  get  it  ?  " 


WAITING  329 

"  Get  back  our  own,"  the  same  voice  answered. 

"  It's  a  tired  man  youd  be  then,  trudging  round 
the  pubs  after  your  money,"  a  voice  said  jeeringly. 

"  Not  so  far  neither,"  another  said.  "  Hasn't 
he  it  all  banked  in  his  nose  ?  " 

"  What'd  we  do  with  it  but  drive  the  Protestants 
after  the  landlords,"  another  voice  said. 

"  Shut  up  you  naygur  of  an  Erinite." 

"  Don't  be  wasting  a  decent  name  on  the  old 
Molly." 

Maurice  tried  to  get  on.  He  developed  the 
idea  of  power  begetting  responsibility  and  even 
sacrifice. 

"  No  soft  jobs  for  Erinites.  They  think  they've 
their  hand  in  the  Home  Rule  till  already,"  some 
one  interrupted. 

He  wound  up  with  an  appeal  for  toleration. 
Ireland  needed  every  son  she  had.  The  very 
name  Home  Rule  created  an  atmosphere  of  distrust 
and  suspicion.  He  was  afraid  there  was  some 
cause  for  this.  It  was  for  the  Catholic  majority 
to  prove  by  their  actions  that  their  hands  were 
clean.  Here  in  this  constituency  let  them  show 
that  they  respected  the  religious  opinions  of  all 
men  and  persecuted  none. 

There  was  loud  cheering  when  he  retired  from 
the  window. 

"  Live  and  let  live  is  my  motto,"  a  fishwife 
shouted.  "The  poor  Protestants  !  sure  they'll 
be  up  agin  hell  in  the  next  world,  why  not  let  them 
have  a  bite  and  a  sup  in  peace  in  this  vale  of  woe  ?  " 

In  the  room  Fitzpatrick  buttonholed  Healy. 
u  What  do  you  think  of  him,  Frank  ?  So — so, 
eh?" 

"  I'm  surprised  at  you,  doctor,  going  agin  the 


330  WAITING 

clergy.  And  you  after  curing  poor  old  Timmins 
out  of  the  D.  T.'s  so  often  too.  Do  you  mean 
to  say  you're  getting  in  earnest  over  politics  at 
the  end  of  your  life  ?  " 

u  End,  indeed — I'm  good  for  thirty  years  yet. 
I've  paid  Timmins  back,  anyway,  for  his  vote 
against  my  nephew  in  that  asylum  appointment. 
I'm  not  a  man  to  be  trifled  with.  Between  our- 
selves though,  I  was  a  bit  sold  that  so  many  priests 
went  for  Timmins  at  the  convention — and  not 
one  of  them  turning  up  to-night.  What  do  you 
make  of  it,  Frank  ? " 

"  Begad,  you  might  be  caught  out  at  last, 
doctor.  I  met  Duggan  as  I  was  coming  in,  and 
he  told  me  the  supporters  of  Blake'd  be  in  a  queer 
kettle  offish  before  the  week  was  out." 

"  And  why,  Frank,  why  ?  "  Fitzpatrick  asked 
eagerly. 

"  I  asked  him  that,  and  he  only  blinked  his  old 
fish  eyes  ;  so  I  told  him  go  and  smother  himself," 
Healy  said  indifferently. 

Fitzpatrick  rubbed  his  chin  anxiously,  nodded 
to  Healy  and  crossed  to  the  fireplace,  where 
Maurice  was  speaking  to  Duffy  and  Dr.  Grace. 

"  I've  only  just  remembered   an  urgent   case- 
very  sorry,  Blake,  that  I've  to  be  off.     I  hoped  to 
have  you  up  at  the  house  for  a  bite  or  a   nip  of 
something — may  see  you  later.     Count  me  in  with 
any  arrangements  you  may  make." 

"  I'll  attend  the  call  for  you,  Fitz  ;  there's  a 
committee  meeting  and  you're  chairman,"  Grace 
said  slyly. 

"  Im — possible,  my  dear  boy,  im — possible." 
With  a  wave  of  his  hand  he  hurried  out  of  the 
room. 


WAITING  331 

"  Fitz  always  makes  a  professional  exit,"  Duffy 
said  dryly.  "  What  is  it  to-night  ?  Cards  ?  " 

Grace  shook  his  head.  "  There's  more  than  cards 
on  his  mind — he  has  been  uneasy  all  the  evening." 

"  Oh,  nothing  weighs  on  Fitzy  long,"  Duffy 
said.  "  How  in  the  world  did  he  drift  to  our 
side  ?  He  usually  keeps  his  eye  on  the  palace, 
and  that  hasn't  smiled  on  us  yet." 

"  The  committee  meeting,  gentlemen,"  Tracy 
said,  "  we  can  hold  it  here." 

Some  one  drew  attention  to  the  fact  that  Maurice 
had  had  no  food.  An  adjournment  to  Leary's  Hotel 
was  proposed,  but  was  objected  to  by  a  sharp-nosed, 
spectacled  little  man  with  a  pointed  beard,  who  said 
that  he  was  not  on  speaking  terms  with  Leary,  and 
wouldn't  be  seen  inside  his  door.  He  would,  how- 
ever, be  proud  to  run  out  himself  and  bring  in  some 
food  for  a  brilliant  fellow  journalist. 

"  McCreery  of  the  Liscannow  Advertiser"  he 
added  with  a  quick  bob,  shaking  Maurice's  hand 
vehemently. 

It  was  finally  settled  that  the  meeting  should  be 
held  in  Dr.  Grace's  rooms,  where  Maurice  could  get 
tea  and  ham.  On  the  way,  Maurice  walked  with 
Tom.  A  few  forlorn  candles,  burnt  almost  to  the 
stumps,  still  flickered  in  a  window  here  and  there. 

"  How  does  it  feel  ?  "  Tom  asked  anxiously. 

"  Rotten." 

"  You  don't  tell  me  now." 

"  Father  James  has  got  hold  of  the  marriage." 

Tom's  face  set  firmly,  and  he  walked  a  few  paces 
in  silence. 

"  That's  hell,"  he  said,  walking  heavily,  his  head 
well  forward.  After  a  few  minutes  he  added,  "  Best 
tell  the  lads." 


332  WAITING 

"  I'm  going  to — at  Dr.  Grace's." 
In  less  than  half  an  hour  afterwards  he  told 
them.  Dr.  Grace's  little  sitting-room  over  Miss 
Farrell's  confectionery  was  overcrowded.  Healy 
was  still  at  tea  at  the  small  round  table.  Dufiy, 
his  legs  dangling  from  the  sofa-end,  fondled  a  glass 
of  whiskey  and  water.  Tom's  figure  in  front  of  the 
firelight  made  a  grotesque  shadow,  huge  and  terrible, 
on  the  ceiling.  The  football  captain,  erect,  awkward, 
shy,  stood  like  a  sentinel  beside  the  closed  door. 
Maurice  stood  at  the  corner  of  the  mantelpiece, 
watching  gas  hissing  from  the  coal. 

"In  the  absence  of  Dr.  Fitz  I   move  that  Dr. 
Grace  takes  the  chair,"  Tracy  said. 

"  Hear  hear,"  came  from  all  parts  of  the  room. 
"  I'm   in   it,"   Grace  said   from  his  seat  on   the 
edge  of  a  writing-desk.      "  The  minutes  of  the  last 
meeting,  Mr.  Tracy,  please." 

Tracy  fumbled  with  a  penny  exercise-book. 
"  There's    something    I've    got    to    say    first," 
Maurice  said  quietly.     "  All  this  has  been  so  sudden 

— let  me  thank  you  for  your  confidence  in  me " 

"  You're  deserving  of  it."     "  Hear,  hear." 
"  That  there  was  no  opportunity  of  letting  you 
know  it  before  this.     In  fact,  it  did  not  occur  to  me 
as  likely  to  have  any  bearing  on  the  election  till  1 
got  some  information  on  Saturday  night." 

There  was  now  dead  silence.  The  football 
captain  relaxed  his  features,  his  head  bent  forward. 
Healy  held  a  knife,  on  which  was  impaled  a  pat  of 
butter,  suspended  over  a  slice  of  bread,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  Maurice. 

"  There  is  to  be  a  contest ' 

"  I  guessed  as  much,"  Healy  said,  relieved, 
spreading  the  butter  on  the  bread. 


WAITING  333 

"  A  matter  in  connection  with  my  private  life, 
known,  I  thought,  only  to  one  or  two  down  here- 
to my  brother  and   Mr.    Driscoll  of  Bourneen,  in 
fact- 

"  I  never  told  it  even  to  my  wife,"  Tom  said 
emphatically. 

"  Tom  is  as  close  as  the  grave  in  regard  to  any- 
thing private,"  the  football  captain  said  sepulchrally. 

Maurice  smiled  faintly.  The  audience  now 
craned  attentive  necks. 

"  Has  come  to  the  knowledge  of  our  opponents, 
and  I've  reason  to  believe  the  priests  are  forcing  a 
contest.  I  dare  say  it  is  more  or  less  public  at  this 
moment." 

"  Fitzy  must  have  got  wind  of  it,"  Duffy  said, 
holding  up  his  glass  to  the  light.  "  Come  to  the 
point,  man,"  he  murmured. 

"  It's  in  regard  to  my  marriage,"  Maurice  said, 
facing  his  hearers  squarely.  "  I  married  a  Protestant 
in  a  registry  office.  The  law  of  the  land  says  I'm 
married.  The  Church  says  I  am  not." 

"  That  you're  living  with  your  wife  without 
being  married  to  her,"  Healy  said  horrified,  letting 
his  knife  drop  with  a  clatter  on  his  plate. 

The  noise  broke  the  tension.  Maurice  shrugged 
his  shoulders. 

"  Let  any  one  say  that  outside,  and  we'll  slap  a 
writ  at  him,"  Duffy  said  standing  up. 

"  Much  good  that'd  do  you,  with  maybe  a  couple 
of  fellows  or  more  on  the  jury,"  Healy  said,  "  that 
won't  agree  to  a  verdict  agin  their  Church  till 
the  crack  of  doom.  Besides,  I  wouldn't  be  liking 
myself  to  put  the  law  of  the  land  above  the  law  of 
the  Church.  Now,  Mr.  Blake,  be  sensible  in  the 
matter.  I  don't  mind  having  a  whack  at  the  clergy 


334  WAITING 

for  their  interfering  ways — God  knows  it's  hard 
to  stand  them,  and  I  was  glad  enough  to  support 
you  for  the  independent,  respectful  way  you  always 
stood  up  agin  them  in  The  Dawn,  but  this  is 
another  pair  of  shoes  entirely.  The  sanctity  of 
the  marriage  bond  is  a  ticklish  thing — sure  we  all 
know  there  isn't  luck  nor  grace  when  the  priest's 
hand  isn't  held  over  you.  Have  you  any  child 
now  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Maurice  said  dryly. 

"  That's  surprising  enough  !  Listen  to  me  now," 
he  said  expansively.  "  All  these  things  can  be  set 
right.  I'll  speak  to  his  lordship  myself — he's  under 
one  or  two  little  obligations  to  me.  A  quiet  marriage 
now — I've  known  the  like  of  it  often  done — up  in 
the  cathedral,  in  the  dead  of  night  or  before  the 
dawn  of  day,  and  nobody  the  wiser " 

"  If  that  insult  is  put  on  a  decent  woman,  damme, 
if  I  won't  vote  for  Timmins,"  the  football  captain 
said  explosively. 

Maurice  looked  at  him  gratefully. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Flaherty,  now,  you  and  your  hot- 
heads of  football  players.  Let  ye  all  listen  to  reason. 
I  know  what  I'm  saying.  And  my  wife  head  of  the 
women's  confraternity  too — she'd  scrape  the  eyes 
out  of  me,  she's  that  holy,  if  she  saw  me  supporting 
a  man  that  wasn't  married,"  Healy  said,  sweat 
oozing  out  of  his  forehead. 

Maurice  clenched  his  fists  in  an  effort  to  control 
himself. 

"  He's  married  as  tightly  as  you  are,  my  good 
man,"  Duffy  said  dryly. 

"  The  minutes,  Mr.  Tracy  ?  This  is  a  private 
matter  of  Mr.  Blake's.  Too  much  has  already  been 
said  on  it,"  Dr.  Grace  said  loudly. 


WAITING  335 

"  You  won't  ask  him  for  a  guarantee  to  set 
things  right  ?  "  Healy  said  aggressively. 

"Certainly  not,"  Grace  said.  "The  minutes, 
Mr.  Tracy  ? " 

"  Then  I  rise  out  of  ye,  and  wash  my  hands  of 
it,"  Healy  said,  walking  out  of  the  room. 

"  Any  others  who  take  that  view — and  might  like 
to  follow  ? "  Grace  said. 

Two  men,  whom  Maurice  did  not  know, 
whispered  together  in  a  corner,  took  their  hats 
sheepishly  off  a  bookcase  and  followed  Healy. 
One  said  from  the  door — 

"  Believe  you  me,  doctor,  it  can't  be  done —  and 
myself,  and  Willy  that's  gone  out  there,  having  little 
girls  nuns  in  the  convent  too.  It's  past  reason." 

Duffy  put  away  his  untasted  glass.  He  looked 
round  the  room,  scanning  each  face. 

"  There's  only  Fitzy  left,"  he  said,  as  if  to  him- 
self. "  Why  in  the  world  did  you  make  him  chair- 
man ? "  he  asked  pettishly. 

"  He  just  took  it.  Fitzy  has  a  way  with  him," 
Grace  said  ruefully. 

"  He  has  a  way  of  turning  tail,  too,  when  things 
get  hot.  Please  God  we'll  see  no  more  of  him," 
Duffy  said  hopefully.  "  I'll  act  as  your  agent,  if 
you'll  have  me  ?  "  he  said,  turning  to  Maurice  and 
holding  out  his  hand.  "  I'm  sorry  for  you,  Blake, 
and  for  your  wife,  that  this  thing  has  to  be  fought 
out  over  you.  It's  an  awkward  fix,  but  I'm  almost 
glad  it  has  arisen.  There  are  these  people  up  in  the 
North  saying  that  we  Catholics'll  ride  rough-shod 
over  them  in  spite  of  the  law.  It's  for  us  now  to 
show  them  they're  wrong.  This  minute  you  have 
a  majority  of  voters  in  this  division  in  favour  of  you. 
There's  very  little  security  for  any  man,  Protestant 


336  WAITING 

or  Catholic,  in  this  country  if  the  priests  and  Timmins 
can  secure  your  defeat  on  the  head  of  your  marriage." 

"  Hear,  hear,"  Flaherty  said  loudly. 

"  We've  got  to  show,"  Duffy  went  on,  facing 
his  audience,  "  that  the  law  of  the  land  can't  be 
overridden  by  a  Roman  decree  about  which  we  were 
never  consulted.  This  blessed  decree  Ne  Temere — 
the  infernal  cheek  of  it — says  that  Mrs.  Blake  is 

a I  beg  your  pardon,  Blake,  I  forgot  you," 

he  said  hesitating ;  "  not  that  there's  much  use 
in  sparing  your  feelings  now,  for  worse  and  grosser 
things'll  be  said." 

"  I'm  quite  prepared  for  them —  so  is  my  wife," 
Maurice  said  firmly,  though  his  lips  twitched  a  little. 

"  I  take  it  that  what  we  have  heard  makes  no 
change  in  our  relation  to  Mr.  Blake — that  he  is 
our  candidate,"  Dr.  Grace  said. 

u  Blake  for  ever,"  Flaherty  said,  the  others 
clapping  their  hands. 

"  Then  the  minutes,  Mr.  Tracy,"  Dr.  Grace  said 
with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

But  the  minutes  were  never  read. 

It  was  Grace  himself  who  started  a  desultory 
talk  with,  "  I  wonder  what  they'll  do  ? " 

"  Use  the  mission,  of  course — the  holy  fathers 
will  preach  Ne  Temere  from  the  pulpits  and  tap  every 
house  direct  through  the  confessional,"  Duffy  said 
angrily. 

They  sat  late  making  plans  for  the  campaign. 
It  was  after  twelve  when  Maurice  drove  out  to 
Bourneen.  Driscoll  and  the  child  were  asleep. 
Alice  was  sewing  by  the  kitchen  fire. 

"Well?"  she  said. 

"  Our  people  know  what  they  have  to  face,"  he 
said  cheerfully. 


WAITING  337 

"  And  they're  going  on  ?  " 

"They're  fine  fellows — win  or  lose  it  will  be 
a  victory."  A  shadow  crossed  her  face.  "  You're 
not  losing  heart  ? "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone,  gazing  sadly  in 
the  fire  ;  "  only  sorry  that  so  much  wrong  is  done 
in  the  name  of  God.  You  won't  let  it  harden 
your  heart,  Maurice  ?  .  .  .  " 


CHAPTER   XXII 

DRISCOLL'S  appearance,  as  he  hobbled  out  to  break- 
fast next  morning,  shocked  Maurice.  Huge  knots 
disfigured  his  fingers.  His  face  was  livid.  His 
white  locks  had  become  straggling  yellow  wisps. 
Only  the  old  gentle  eyes  remained.  Yet  these  too 
had  changed.  They  had  more  fire  in  them,  and 
determination,  when  he  spoke  of  anything  in  which 
he  was  interested. 

"  I'm  going  down  the  hill  quick,"  he  said  with 
a  smile,  "  ever  since  I  left  you  in  the  summer,  but 
I'll  not  give  in  till  they  carry  me  out  feet  fore- 
most." 

In  the  garden,  afterwards,  as  he  was  about  to 
set  out  for  Liscannow,  with  some  sinking  of  heart 
Maurice  told  Driscoll  of  Father  Mahon's  telegram, 
expecting  the  usual  counsel  of  submission.  The  old 
man  struck  his  stick  firmly  on  the  path. 

"  If  your  heart  tells  you  you're  right,"  he  said 
feebly,  "  never  mind  the  risk.  These  last  few 
months,  and  I  not  able  to  read  or  to  work,  my 
thoughts  were  wandering  a  lot  over  my  whole  life. 
What  I  was  most  sorry  for  was  the  times  I  was 
cautious  and  prudent ;  and  the  only  consolation  I 
had  was  that  I  helped  in  the  rearing  of  people  more 
courageous  than  myself.  Never  count  the  cost 
when  you  think  you're  right.  That's  the  only  way 
the  world'll  get  out  of  the  bog  it's  in." 


WAITING  339 

He  stood  by  the  gate  watching  the  children 
pass  by  to  school,  a  few  sods  of  turf  under  an  arm 
of  each. 

"  It's  well  they  get  some  heat  for  their  bodies 
itself,  for  it's  little  they  get  for  their  minds  since 
you  left,"  he  said  sadly. 

They  walked  slowly  towards  the  school.  The 
gate  hung  on  one  hinge.  Grass  and  weeds  covered 
the  flower  beds.  The  plaster  had  fallen  from 
the  walls  in  great  irregular  patches.  The  creeper 
lay  sodden  on  the  ground.  The  paint  on  the  front 
door  had  worn  away  to  the  priming.  Broken  panes 
were  patched  with  cardboard.  One  window  was 
boarded  half-way  up. 

"The  sash  fell  out  near  a  year  ago,"  Driscoll 
said  angrily. 

"Shall  we  go  in  ?"  Maurice  said. 

"  'Twould  break  your  heart — and  the  poor  man 
within'd  be  frightened  to  death  too.  Long  ago  he 
got  orders  from  Father  James  to  keep  me  out. 
Poor  fellow,  he's  one  of  them  that  some  people  say 
is  his  own  worst  enemy.  But  the  parish  is  suffer- 
ing. The  Board  in  Dublin  made  many  an  attempt 
to  get  rid  of  him,  but  Father  James  wouldn't 
budge.  The  people  are  grumbling — what  can 
they  do?" 

"We  shall  make  an  effort  to  change  all  this." 

"Do  then.  It's  time  something  was  done.  I'll 
walk  with  you  as  far  as  the  chapel — you  can  leave 
me  there." 

During  his  walk  to  Liscannow,  Maurice  couldn't 
get  rid  of  the  memory  of  the  dilapidated  school- 
house — almost  in  the  shadow,  too,  of  the  glaring 
limestone  spire  that  now  crowned  the  chapel  tower. 
Neighbours  spoke  to  him,  and  congratulated  him, 


340 


WAITING 


but  he  hurried  on.  The  Father  Mahons  had  seized 
on  the  education  of  the  country  and  were  throttling 
it — they  gave  the  people  limestone  spires  instead. 
He  laughed  bitterly.  What  were  they  aiming  at  ? 
Durrisk  gateway  reminded  him  of  the  convents  and 
monasteries  round  Dublin.  Soon,  perhaps,  Durrisk 
would  be  a  monastery.  The  whole  country  would 
be  one  I5ig  convent  of  priests  and  nuns.  This,  of 
course,  was  ridiculous — still.  They  were  amass- 
ing immense  wealth.  They  held  the  people  in 
spiritual  fear.  .  .  . 

He  asked  himself  gravely  if  he  had  any  religion 
left — if  he  ever  had  any.  His  thoughts  went  back 
to  his  childhood.  There  were  moments  .  .  .  and 
priests  had  helped  him  too,  old  Father  Boland,  and 
later,  Father  Malone.  Yes,  in  spite  of  Father 
Mahon  he  held  to  his  earlier  vision.  Men  had 
suffered  for  their  faith  and  for  their  priests.  .  .  . 
For  the  Father  Mahons  ?  The  country  couldn't 
be  so  foolish.  .  .  .  What  did  an  awakening  so 
often  lead  to  ?  Breslin's  scepticism.  And  the 
scepticism  of  the  ignorant  would  be  worse  still. 
He  stood  on  the  bridge  and  watched  the  river 
swirl  rapidly  under  the  arches.  The  Mahons  were 
damming  it  with  their  little  spades.  There  were 
so  many  of  them  !  Would  they  succeed  ? 

Liscannow  had  resumed  its  listless  mood.  Less 
than  a  dozen  people  passed  him  between  the  bridge 
and  the  main  street.  In  front  of  Leary's  hotel  a 
pack  of  hounds  yapped  loudly,  impatient  of  re- 
straining whips.  He  bought  a  Star  which  had  just 
arrived,  but  there  was  no  reference  to  the  election. 
Liscannow  seemed  to  ignore  it  too.  He  called  at 
Duffy's  office. 

"There's    nothing    to    do    till    the    other    side 


WAITING  341 

moves.  They're  active — Timmins  was  with  the 
bishop  this  morning  for  over  an  hour — but  they've 
said  nothing  yet,  we'll  just  sit  tight,"  was  the 
agent's  advice. 

Days  passed.  Maurice  heard  minute  details  of 
Bourneen  news  :  Father  Malone  had  been  sent  to 
a  mountainy  parish  ;  the  new  curate  was  always 
galivanting  into  Liscannow,  and  had  a  piano,  yellow 
kid  gloves  and  a  gold-handled  umbrella;  the  cess 
for  the  new  spire  was  something  cruel. 

There  were  visits  to  the  Crawfords,  the  Blakes, 
the  Reardons,  the  Hinnisseys  ;  and  return  visits. 
Miss  Clancy,  who  was  just  home  from  a  Dublin 
convent  school,  called  very  formally  on  Alice, 
dropping  a  card  on  the  kitchen  dresser.  She  com- 
plained of  the  lack  of  society  in  Bourneen,  and  left, 
hurriedly  and  blushingly,  when  Mrs.  Hinnissey 
came  in  and  addressed  her  as  Janie.  Deputations 
came  to  impress  on  Maurice  the  crying  need  of  a 
grant  of  Government  money — to  be  had  for  the 
asking  once  he  was  in  Parliament — for  draining 
the  bog,  making  a  railway  through  the  mountains, 
lengthening  the  Strand  boat-slip. 

Every  day  he  paid  a  visit  to  Liscannow,  but 
nothing  happened.  The  Star  was  silent.  Breslin 
wrote  that  Timmins  was  to  be  supported  by  the 
League,  and  Maurice  repudiated.  The  delay  was 
due  to  the  difficulty  of  finding  some  decent  reason 
for  upsetting  the  decision  of  the  convention.  But 
this,  he  thought,  in  experienced  hands,  would  not 
be  of  long  duration.  The  Star  would  make  no 
reference  to  the  marriage  throughout  the  campaign  : 
the  local  League  rag — he  believed  it  was  called  The 
Liscannow  News — would  do  all  that  was  necessary, 
but  guardedly.  "I'll  see  that  The  Stat  lets  you 


342  WAITING 

down  lightly,"  he  wound  up.  "  Factionist,  enemy 
of  the  people,  betrayer  of  your  country,  Socialist, 
anti-clerical  is  the  worst  I'll  let  any  one  write  in 
the  way  of  names.'  And  a  P.S. :  "I  hope  that  it 
won't  be  too  beastly — but  it  will. — L.B." 

Every  day  Maurice  expected  the  blow,  but  it 
didn't  come.  The  Sheriff  fixed  the  day  of  nomi- 
nation, a  Saturday.  Maurice  was  still  the  only 
candidate  in  the  field.  Next  day  the  dead  walls  of 
Liscannow,  and  the  gates  of  all  the  Catholic  churches 
in  the  constituency,  were  placarded  with  notices  of 
a  general  mission  in  every  parish  of  the  diocese,  to 
begin  at  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  of  the  Sunday 
following  the  nomination.  Maurice  and  his  helpers 
became  more  active.  No  public  meetings  were 
held,  but  there  was  much  interviewing  of  leading 
supporters  in  all  parts  of  the  division.  He  went 
about  with  a  smiling  face,  but  his  nerves  were  on 
the  rack.  He  always  returned  to  Bourneen  with 
a  fear  that  something — vague  but  terrifying — had 
happened  to  Alice  during  his  absence.  But  always 
he  found  her  happy  with  some  new  wonder  of 
Maureen's  doings  and  sayings  on  her  lips. 

Sometimes  she  said,  "  You're  not  minding, 
Maurice  ? " 

And  he  said,  "  Nor  you  ? " 

Then  they  sat  silent  for  awhile  before  the  fire, 
and  both  seemed  to  sigh  at  the  same  moment. 

On  the  Thursday  before  the  nomination  The 
Star  of  Liberty  announced  in  leaded  type  that  the 
Liscannow  convention  was  found  to  be  informal. 
The  political  organization  committee  in  Dublin,  in 
view  of  the  fact  that  there  was  now  no  time  to  hold 
a  properly  constituted  convention,  had  nominated 
Mr.  Edward  Timmins  for  the  vacant  seat.  This 


WAITING  343 

was  the  natural  choice,  as  Mr.  Timmins  seemed  to 
have  secured  the  majority  of  the  legally  accredited 
votes  at  the  informal  convention.  A  moderate  lead- 
ing article  supported  the  decision  of  the  committee. 
Mr.  Timmins  was  an  old  and  tried  worker  for  the 
cause,  whose  opinions  on  all  national  questions  were 
sound.  The  same  could  not  be  said  of  Mr.  Blake. 
He  had  a  tendency  to  air  views  on  policy  dangerous 
to  national  unity.  What  was  needed  at  this 
critical  moment  in  the  country's  history  was  abso- 
lute obedience  to  the  dictates  of  their  gifted  leaders. 
Mr.  Blake  was  a  literary  man  of  eminence,  as  his 
many  contributions  to  the  columns  of  The  Star 
proved,  but  the  political  ideas  of  literary  men  were 
usually  beneath  contempt.  Mr.  Blake  was  a  striking 
example  of  this.  Extracts  from  his  political  articles 
in  The  Dawn  followed.  A  concluding  paragraph 
applied  to  Maurice  all  the  epithets  promised  by 
Breslin,  but  without  rancour. 

While  Maurice  was  reading  this  news  in  The 
Star,  in  the  private  sitting-room  reserved  for  him 
at  Leary's  Hotel,  Father  Malone  was  announced. 

The  priest  was  pale  and  excited.  His  lips 
moved  to  speak,  but  no  sound  came.  He  shook 
Maurice's  hand,  and  dropped  it  hurriedly.  He 
took  off  his  glasses  and  wiped  them  nervously  with 
his  handkerchief. 

Maurice  said,  "This  is  a  happy  chance — I  was 
looking  forward  to  seeing  you.  I  intended  to  call 
to-morrow  when  I'm  due  in  your  parish.  Take 
that  chair  and  make  yourself  comfortable." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  Father  Malone  said  abstractedly, 
his  eyes  fixed  on  Maurice  with  a  sort  of  unseeing 
stare.  He  rubbed  away  at  his  glasses,  but  made  no 
movement  towards  the  chair.  Suddenly  he  started, 


344  WAITING 

as  if  waking  from  a  dream,  said  "  Yes,  yes,"  and  sat 
down. 

Maurice  sat  near,  in  another  armchair,  and 
waited  somewhat  apprehensively. 

The  priest  put  on  his  glasses.  He  took  several 
minutes  to  fix  the  clips  satisfactorily  behind  his  ears. 
He  stared  at  the  fire. 

"  How  have  you  been  all  those  years  ? "  Maurice 
said,  feeling  stupid  and  almost  tongue-tied. 

The  priest  looked  at  him  reproachfully.  "  I 
never  expected  it  of  you,  Maurice,"  he  said  in  a 
flat  tone. 

"  What  didn't  you  expect  ? " 

"Oh,  the  sin  of  it,"  Malone  said  bitterly, 
wringing  his  hands,  and  speaking  as  if  to  the  fire. 

"  Of  what  ?  " 

"This  marriage — this  unhappy,  unhappy  marriage 
—that's  no  marriage  in  the  sight  of  God.  Oh, 
Maurice,  that  you,  of  all  men,  should  do  it." 

The  feeling  of  anger  that  momentarily  arose  in 
Maurice  gave  way  to  one  of  pity.  Unconsciously 
he  put  out  his  hand  and  laid  it  on  the  priest's 
sleeve. 

"  Don't  feel  it  so  much,  Father,"  he  said 
anxiously,  thinking  only  of  the  need  of  sympathy 
expressed  in  the  priest's  face. 

"  You  feel  it  then  yourself,"  Malone  said,  look- 
ing up  hopefully.  "  You're  sorry  for  it — you'll  do 
your  best  to  set  it  right." 

"  Sorry  for  what  ?     Set  what  right  ?  " 

"  The  sin — the  marriage,"  Father  Malone  said, 
a  little  impatiently. 

Maurice  stared  at  him.  Again  his  anger  gave 
way,  and  he  said  gently — 

"  I'm  sorry  if  anything  I  have  done  gives  you 


WAITING  345 

pain.  For  the  rest,  I'm  conscious  of  neither  sin 
nor  sorrow,"  he  added,  shutting  his  lips  tightly. 

Father  Malone  extended  his  hands  in  a  quick, 
despairing  movement  towards  the  fire. 

"  It's  always  the  way  with  the  love  of  a  woman," 
he  said  sadly  ;  "  it  hardens  a  man's  heart  to  the 
grace  of  God.  Why,  if  I  reckoned  them  up 
according  to  the  rules  of  moral  theology,  the  sins 
you've  committed  in  this  miserable  affair  are  as 
numerous,  maybe,  as  the  hairs  on  your  head.  But, 
take  heart.  Our  Lord  was  never  the  One  to  crush 
the  bruised  reed  or  quench  the  smoking  flax,"  he 
added  with  a  wan  smile. 

"  I'm  neither  a  bruised  reed  nor  smoking  flax," 
Maurice  said  with  an  answering  smile. 

"  God  help  us,  we  all  are.  But  that's  neither 
here  nor  there.  You're  going  to  rise  out  of  it  now, 
there's  a  good  fellow." 

Maurice  stood  up  and  gazed  down  at  the  priest's 
expectant  face. 

"  You've  already  said  enough  to  make  me 
angry  with  almost  any  one  else  in  the  world,"  he 
said  quietly.  "  1  don't  want  to  quarrel  with  you 
for  holding  your  view — but  1  don't  want  to  hear  it 
again.  Try  to  conceive  that  another  view — mine, 
for  instance — may  be  right.  I'm  married,  and  I'll 
expect  you  to  remember  it.  Don't  quarrel  with  me 
—don't,"  he  added  appealingly. 

"  But  you're  not  married — you're  living  in 
sin — the  Ne  Temere"  the  priest  said  in  amaze- 
ment. 

Maurice  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  walked 
up  and  down  the  room. 

"  What  would  you  have  me  do  ?  "  he  said  dryly, 
standing  by  the  corner  of  the  fireplace. 


346  WAITING 

The  priest  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  That's 
talking  reason,"  he  said  brightening.  He  held  his 
clasped  hands  to  his  lips  and  thought  for  a  few 
moments.  "  I  saw  his  lordship  before  coming  to  see 
you — in  fact,  'twas  he  that  sent  for  me,"  Malone 
said  timidly. 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  "  Maurice  said  dryly. 

"  He  may  be  a  hard  man  in  many  things — I 
won't  be  denying  that  it's  not  always  easy  to  see 
what  he's  driving  at.  But  I'm  sure  he's  all  right  in 
this — he  couldn't  be  otherwise,  and  the  law  of  God 
at  stake." 

"  Some  Roman  lawyer  made  it  the  law  of  God 
here  a  couple  of  years  ago.  Up  to  then  my  marriage 
would  have  been  valid.  One  would  think  God 
knew  His  own  mind  better,"  Maurice  said  harshly. 
"Perhaps  He  does,  in  spite  of  Ne  Temere?  But 
go  on." 

The  priest  shook  his  head  sadly.  "  After  all, 
you're  a  layman  and  can't  grasp  these  things,"  he 
said  slowly.  "  I  don't  much  like  the  Church  myself 
to  be  making  new  sins — to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't 
like  it  at  all.  But  once  she  says  the  word — why, 
it  is  God  speaking,  and  there's  nothing  for  it  but 
to  obey,"  he  said  simply.  "  But  you've  put  me  off 
the  track.  Where  was  I  ?  Oh  yes.  The  bishop 
was  very  kind.  He  isn't  always  that  to  me,  I  may 
tell  you,  so  it  shows  you  how  much  he  has  taken 
your  affair  to  heart.  He  admitted  even  that  he  was 
a  bit  rushed  into  the  steps  he  has  already  taken  (the 
mission  and  the  like),  by  Father  James  Mahon — 
he's  a  bad  egg,  may  God  forgive  him — and  that 
he'd  far  rather  for  the  good  of  religion  and  the 
glory  of  God  that  the  matter  was  settled  quietly." 

"  Well  ? "  Maurice  said  interested. 


WAITING  347 

"  Well,  the  long  and  the  short  of  it  is  this.  If 
the  woman " 

«  Who  ?  " 

"  The  woman — oh — well,  Mrs.  Blake  can  be  got 
to  consent  to  a  marriage  by  a  priest  in  a  Catholic 
church,  he'd  be  willing  to  forget  everything,  and 
make  it  easy  for  you  about  the  dispensation  and  all 
that — but  you'd  have  to  repair  the  scandal,  of 
course " 

"  Scandal  ?  "  Maurice  interrupted. 

"The  injury  you've  done  to  God,  to  our  Holy 
Church,  to  the  bishop,  to  the  pious  faithful." 

"  My  God  !  Isn't  it  I  who  am  injured — and 
my  wife  and  child  ?  "  Maurice  said  angrily. 

"The  sinner  does  suffer  a  little,  of  course  ;  but 
think  of  God,  Maurice.  It's  He— 

"  Oh,"  Maurice  said  wearily.  "  But  go  on. 
How  am  I  to  repair  this  scandal  ? " 

"  By  retiring  from  the  contest — I'd  wish  myself 
there  was  some  other  way.  Timmins  is  a  disgrace 
to  a  Christian  community,  and  no  more  a  real 
Nationalist  than  my  old  boot.  But  the  bishop  was 
firm.  He  said  the  honour  of  God,  which  was 
insulted  by  your  action,  demanded  at  least  that 
much  reparation  from  you." 

Maurice  laughed.  "  And  if  the — woman  doesn't 
consent  ?  "  he  asked  dryly,  pressing  the  forefinger  of 
each  hand  tightly  against  the  thumb. 

"  You'd  have  to  separate  from  her  at  once. 
Every  minute  you're  living  with  her  you're  living 
in  sin.  You'd  keep  the  child,  of  course ;  any 
convent'd  take  her  off  your  hands." 

Maurice  gazed  at  the  fire.  He  turned  and  looked 
Father  M alone  all  over. 

"  And  you  are  a  man  ?  "  he  said,  as  if  to  himself. 


348  WAITING 

"  And  the  wonder  of  it  is,"  he  added,  letting  his 
eyes  wander  to  the  fire,  "  that  he  is,  and  a  good 
man  too  in  a  hundred  ways." 

"  You're  a  bit  shaken  by  that,"  the  priest  said 
sympathetically.  "  But  the  grace  of  God'll  come 
to  your  help  and  you'll  soon  get  over  it." 

Maurice  said  nothing.  After  a  pause  Father 
Malone  continued. 

"The  worst  of  it  is  that  after  doing  all  that 
Timmins'll  get  in  in  any  event  ;  for  you  see  you'd 
still  have  the  scandal  to  repair,  and  nothing  less 
than  your  retirement  would  satisfy  his  lordship  on 
that  head." 

Maurice  smiled  wearily.  "  Hadn't  I  better  stick 
to  my  wife  and  to  the  contest  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I 
might  keep  out  Timmins." 

Father  Malone  blushed.  "  I  was  thinking  more 
of  your  soul  all  along,"  he  said  reproachfully. 

"  I'm  sure  you  were,"  Maurice  said  impulsively. 
"You  think  I've  lost  my  soul.  I  think  I'm  nearer 
to  finding  it.  Can  you  be  friends  with  a  lost 
soul  ?  " 

The  priest  took  his  hand  and  shook  it  warmly. 
Then  he  seemed  uneasy.  After  a  few  moments  his 
face  lit  up. 

"  I'm  right  in  keeping  friends,"  he  said  gravely. 
"  You  see  if  I  give  you  up  you  might  go  from 
bad  to  worse.  And  if  I  keep  in  with  you  I  might 
get  you  to  come  round  yet." 

He  spoke  of  his  mountain  parish.  "  There  were 
few  anxious  to  take  it,"  he  said,  "but  I'm  as 
happy  there  as  a  king.  I'm  far  from  the  bishop, 
and  that's  sometimes  a  God-send,  and  I've  no  priest 
over  me  or  under  me,  and  that  helps  to  keep  a 
man  out  of  harm's  way.  I "  All  the  time 


WAITING  349 

he  was  evidently  thinking  of  Maurice,  for  he 
broke  off  suddenly,  "  To  go  back  to  your  soul 
again— 

But  Maurice  interrupted  him. 

"  You  won't  get  there  now,"  he  said  emphatically. 
"  I'm  due  at  Duffy's  for  the  last  ten  minutes." 

"  They'll  beat  you.  There  are  so  many  things 
I  have  to  say  to  you.  Couldn't  you  give 

Maurice  wouldn't  re-open  the  discussion.  On 
their  way  downstairs  the  priest  said— 

"  You're  wrong,  but  I  don't  like  the  method  by 
which  you're  to  be  attacked — a  good  many  don't. 
Only  let  me  talk  to  you — 

In    the    hall    Dr.    Fitzpatrick    almost   ran    into 
them.      "  Oh  !  "    he  said,  "  Father  Malone,  and— 
yes,    it   is — Mr.    Blake.       Give   him    good   advice, 
Father." 

"  Hush  ! "  the  priest  said  looking  round  anxiously. 

"  Mum  is  the  word — I  know  everything — but 
I'm  as  safe  as  a— 

"Leaking  kettle,"  the  priest  said  roughly. 

"  Father  Malone  will  have  his  joke,"  Fitz- 
patrick said  complacently  to  Maurice.  "  Giving 
in  ?  "  he  whispered.  "  I'd  strongly  advise  you  " 
he  turned  towards  Father  Malone — "  for  the  sake 
of  religion  and  all  that."  Again  to  Maurice,  "  A 
family  man  myself!  so  I  didn't  turn  up  after 
Duggan  told  me  how  matters  stood  that  first  night  : 
he  had  it  direct  from  his  lordship.  But  I'm  not 
strait-laced,  not  by  any  manner  of  means.  No 
prejudice  against  you  whatever." 

Maurice  must  have  looked  very  angry  for  Father 
Malone  took  his  arm  and  dragged  him  away  ;  while 
Fitzpatrick  muttered  in  amazement,  "  And  I  only 
trying  to  be  friendly." 


350  WAITING 

On  Friday  night  Maurice  addressed  an  enthu- 
siastic meeting  in  the  market  square.  On  Saturday 
morning  the  Liscannow  News  gave  brief  biographies 
of  the  two  candidates,  stating,  without  comment, 
that  Maurice  was  married  to  a  Protestant  lady,  Miss 
Alice  Barton,  in  a  Dublin  Registry  Office. 

Later  in  the  day  the  nominations  took  place 
quietly. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

FATHER  MAHON  rang  for  the  lamp,  pulled  down  the 
blinds  to  shut  out  the  sodden,  dark  grey  sky,  and 
took  his  seat  in  the  little  circle  round  his  study  fire. 

"  The  sun  hasn't  gone  down  yet.  I  hope  to  God 
the  darkness  isn't  for  rain.  It'd  spoil  the  mission 
to-night,"  he  said,  spreading  his  hands  to  the  cheer- 
ful blaze.  "  God  forbid,"  a  rubicund  priest,  in  the 
black  habit  of  the  Seraphites,  said  unctuously.  He 
twirled  his  thumbs,  which  just  met  across  his  paunch, 
his  hands  resting  on  it  as  if  on  a  cushion.  Little 
grey  eyes  gleamed  under  his  bushy  eyebrows. 
Layers  of  cheek,  overhanging  his  jaws,  hid  his 
collar.  A  few  yellow  stumps  of  teeth  protruded 
from  a  wide  mouth.  He  smacked  his  lips.  The 
few,  wiry  hairs,  surrounding  his  tonsure,  seemed  to 
stand  erect.  "  But  God  is  very  good  to  us  in  the 
way  of  weather,  especially  on  the  opening  night — 
isn't  He,  Father  Mansuetudo  ?  " 

"  He  is  that,  Father  Prior,  and  He's  sure  not  to 
fail  us  on  a  great  occasion  like  this,"  Father  Man- 

O  •* 

suetudo  said  emphatically.  He  shut  his  thin  lips 
austerely,  till  the  skin  was  drawn  tight  over  his  high 
cheek-bones  and  narrow  forehead.  His  eyes,  set 
close  together,  almost  nestling  against  a  long  thin 
nose,  gleamed  as  he  added,  "  Do  you  remember  that 
time,  Father  Benignus — Father  Prior,  I  should  say — 
when  we  had  to  denounce  that  scandal  up  in  the 
North  ?  It  was  raining  cats  and  dogs  all  day,  and  it 


352  WAITING 

cleared  up  within  an  hour  of  the  mission  service — 
a  special  Providence,  I  call  it,"  he  looked  around 
questioningly.  "You  were  in  great  fettle  that 
night,  Father  Prior." 

"  Oh,  God  fits  the  back  to  the  burthen,"  the 
prior  said  carelessly.  "  It's  getting  late,  Father 
Mahon,  and  I  think  we  ought  to  be  having  the 
dinner.  I  like  to  have  it  well  settled  down  always 
before  I  begin  to  preach." 

"  It's  only  ten  to  four,  and  four  is  the  hour," 
Father  Mahon  said  firmly.  "  Besides,  Father  Dela- 
hunty  is  coming.  It's  like  him,  I  must  say,  to  be 
wandering  about  the  country,  dining  out,  and  he 
having  a  mission  of  his  own  to-night,  too." 

"  I  wish  7  could  be  away,"  a  slim  priest  sighed. 
He  stroked  tenderly  the  auburn  curl  on  his  fore- 
head, and  pulled  his  white  cuffs  well  down  over  his 
knuckles.  "There's  a  good  deal  of  rot  about  all 
this  fuss,  you  know — -and  I'm  missing  a  musical 
party  in  Liscannow.  She's  a  likely  piece  of  goods 
enough  too.  I  don't  know  but  I'm  half  sorry  for 
her.  There's  no  telling  what  I  mightn't  be  doing 
myself  if  the  like  of  her  put  the  comether  on  me, 
and  I  wasn't  tied  down  as  I  am." 

Father  Mahon  and  Father  Mansuetudo  frowned. 

Father  Benignus  chuckled.  "You're  a  gay 
lad — a  regular  Lothario.  It  must  be  a  trial  now, 
Father  Mahon,  to  have  a  curate  like  him — all  the 
girls  running  after  him  ;  I  remember  my  own  young 
days.  Keep  a  chain  on  him,  Mahon." 

Father  Mansuetudo  gave  a  hollow  laugh.  "  One 
of  Father  Prior's  little  jokes — in  the  privacy  of  the 
family,  you  know,"  he  said  in  anxious  explanation. 

Father  Benignus  chuckled  at  some  memory. 
"  Gay  dog,"  he  murmured. 


WAITING  353 

"  This  is  too  serious  a  matter  for  joking," 
Father  Mahon  said  frowning.  He  glared  angrily 
at  his  curate.  "  I  don't  mind  your  being  a  fool  so 
long  as  you  do  your  work,  Father  Brogan,"  he 
spluttered,  "  but  I  won't  have  my  curate  lifting  his 

voice  against  me  in  my  own  parish.     I'll — I'll " 

He  glanced  at  the  two  Seraphites,  who  were  watching 
him,  Father  Mansuetudo  anxiously,  Father  Benig- 
nus  with  an  amused  grin,  and  tried  to  check  his 
temper.  "  This  is  a  momentous  occasion,  Father 
Benignus,"  he  said  ponderously.  "  This  fellow, 
Blake,  has  pitted  himself  against  me — there  is  also 
the  great  virtue  of  purity  !  and  we  have  to  maintain 
the  authority  of  the  Church  and  her  laws.  I  hope 
I'm  safe  in  trusting  it  entirely  to  your  hands  ? — no 
levity ?" 

"  Oh,  I'll  diddle  him  all  right,"  Father  Benignus 
said,  striking  the  arm  of  his  chair  with  his  open 
palm  as  if  crushing  a  fly. 

"He's  as  solemn  as  a  judge  in  the  pulpit," 
Father  Mansuetudo  said  assuringly.  "  You  never 
heard  him  ?  The  eloquence  pours  out  of  him  like 
water  out  of  a  barrel — and  his  big  voice  ! — the 
hammer  of  the  Lord,  we  call  him  in  the  order,"  he 
added  admiringly. 

Father  Benignus  smacked  his  lips  complacently. 
"The  sooner  I'll  have  that  dinner,  the  better  I'll 
have  my  wind  back,"  he  said,  his  hands  straying 
feelingly  over  his  paunch. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  front  door.  In  a  few 
minutes  Father  Delahunty  came  in.  As  he  shook 
hands  with  Father  Mahon,  the  servant  announced 
dinner. 

"  Oh,  Seraphites  !  "  Delahunty  said.  "  Father 
Benignus,  and  Father  Mansuetudo  too  !  'Dad, 

2  A 


354  WAITING 

Mahon,  you're  going  to  give  it  to  poor  Blake  hot. 
*  Mary  had  a  little  lamb,  and  she  was  meek  and 
mild,'  "  he  hummed. 

"  You  should  have  had  me  for  your  mission, 
Delahunty,  my  boy,"  Father  Benignus  said  boister- 
ously, when  they  had  taken  their  seats  in  the  dining- 
room. 

"  No  fireworks  for  me  this  time.  Cassidy 
wouldn't  have  it — he's  never  far  wrong.  Nothing'd 
do  him  but  a  pair  of  Jesuits — he  picked  them  him- 
self, too — warranted  mild." 

"  They're  too  mealy-mouthed  for  a  job  like  this," 
Benignus  said,  fixing  his  napkin  under  his  many 
chins. 

"  That's  just  it — butter  wouldn't  melt  in  the 
mouths  of  the  pair  we  have.  Besides,  Cassidy  has 
reduced  them  to  pulp  by  this.  They're  opening 
on  temperance  to-night " 

Father  Mahon  paused  in  his  carving.  "  What  ? " 
he  shouted. 

"  Temperance,"  Delahunty  repeated,  pouring  a 
little  whiskey  into  his  tumbler.  "  Shall  I  help  you, 
Father  Benignus  ?  " 

"  Do.  But  you  needn't  be  too  careful  about  the 
measuring." 

"  Yes,  temperance.  And  why  wouldn't  they  ? 
Neither  of  the  poor  men  drink.  They're  bubbling 
over  with  cold  water — Cassidy  is  in  that  line  himself 
too." 

"  But  the  bishop's  instructions — the  Ne  Temere— 
the  whole  opening  sermon — and  to  be  touched  on 
every  night  up  to  the  election,"  Father  Mahon  said, 
in  a  series  of  crescendo  shouts. 

"  Father  Benignus  is  watching  that  slab  of 
mutton  on  your  fork  like  a  hawk.  Don't  let 


WAITING  355 

it  be  getting  cold  on  him,"  Father  Delahunty  said 
dryly. 

Father  Mahon  dashed  the  mutton  on  a  plate 
recklessly.  "  Send  it  down  to  Father  Brogan  for 
ham — if  you  want  it,"  he  said  angrily,  almost 
throwing  the  plate  at  Father  Benignus.  "This  is 
a  nice  business,"  he  went  on — "  downright  insub- 
ordination. I  venture  to  say  you'll  be  the  only 
parish  in  the  diocese  not  doing  your  duty  to-night." 

"  It's  queer  how  men  put  things  differently," 
Delahunty  said,  sipping  his  whiskey  and  water. 
"  That  fool  of  a  Cassidy  of  mine  has  some  notion 
that  he's  keeping  the  parish  decent — '  It'll  be  an 
oasis  in  a  desert  of  shame  for  the  next  week  at  least,' 
he  says.  And  that's  why  he's  sprinkling  it  with 
cold  water.  '  It's  cooler,'  he  says,  c  in  election  time 
than  the  kind  of  blue  vitriol  Benignus  here'll  be 
spouting.' ' 

"  He's  a  damn  funny  codger,"  Father  Benignus 
said,  with  his  mouth  full. 

Father  Mansuetudo  frowned.  "  Would  you  put 
it  that  way,  Father  Prior  ? "  he  said,  with  a  trace  of 
asperity.  His  eyes  almost  met,  so  close  were  they 
together.  "  I  should  rather  say  self-willed — dan- 
gerous— temerarious — almost  in  fact,  quasi-heretical 
for  flouting  the  authority  of  his  bishop,  apart 
altogether  from  the  disrespectful  way  he  spoke  of 
you,  Father  Prior — an  insult  to  our  Superior  and  to 
our  holy  order." 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  Father  Benignus  said, 
his  little  eyes  blinking  rapidly.  "  I've  often  told 
you,  Father,"  he  said  gravely,  "  that  though  I  see 
the  humorous  side  of  a  situation,  I'm  none  the  less 
blind  to  its  deplorable  circumstances — a  rash  young 
man  !  likely  to  come  to  a  bad  end." 


356  WAITING 

Father  Mansuetudo  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  1 
ought  to  have  known  you  better,  Father  Prior,"  he 
said  apologetically. 

Father  Mahon  brooded  over  his  untasted  dinner. 
He  dabbed  a  knife  viciously  in  his  mutton. 

"  The  bishop  will  hear  of  this,  Father  Dela- 
hunty,"  he  said  aggressively.  "  A  parish  priest  is — 
a  parish  priest,  and  you  won't  escape  responsibility 
by  bringing  in  Cassidy." 

"  What  wonderful  insight  you  have,  James," 
Delahunty  said  ironically.  "But  I  didn't  tell  you 
all  that  Cassidy  said,"  he  went  on  with  a  chuckle. 
"  f  Delahunty,  my  boy,'  he  said  to  me — he  looks  on 
me  as  a  gossoon  in  petticoats, — l  that  was  a  great 
trick  of  sending  round  them  marked  copies  of  the 
Liscannow  News  with  the  account  of  Blake's  registry 
marriage,'  he  said,  *  laying  a  train  of  powder  in  every 
voter's  house  for  the  missioners  to  put  a  spark  to 
to-night  and  blow  up  the  poor  devil  with.  But 
damn  the  fizzle  even  there'll  be  out  of  that  same 
powder  in  this  parish  the  way  I'll  have  it  deluged 
in  cold  water,'  he  said." 

"  But  Cassidy — and  you,  too — is  supposed  to  be 
a  priest  of  God,"  Father  Mahon  thundered. 

"  It's  queer  now,"  Delahunty  said  calmly,  "  that 
them  are  the  very  words  that  Cassidy  himself  used. 
*  And  I'm  damned,'  he  said  besides,  '  if  I'll  have  God 
turned  into  an  electioneering  agent.' ' 

"This  is  as  good  as  a  play — I  don't  think  I'm 
missing  much  in  not  being  in  Liscannow,"  Father 
Brogan  whispered  to  Father  Mansuetudo. 

"  It's  a  scandal — a  scandal,"  Father  Mansuetudo 
muttered  angrily.  He  looked  across  at  his  prior  ; 
but  Father  Benignus  was  intent  on  his  plate.  There 
was  no  movement  in  his  face,  but  his  breath  came 


WAITING  357 

in  short,  quick  gasps  through  his  nose,  and  the 
napkin,  on  his  breast,  was  shaking  violently. 

"  The  flame  Father  Prior'll  kindle  to-night 
will  spread  through  the  length  and  breadth  of  the 
diocese,"  Father  Mansuetudo  said  ecstatically,  the 
light  of  vision  in  his  eyes.  "  And  there  are  thirty 
of  our  Fathers  in  other  parishes — no  temporizing 
Jesuits,  but  true  Seraphites — to  fan  the  torch  with 
their  holy  zeal."  His  lips  moved  as  if  in  prayer. 

"  No  doubt  it'll  be  a  great  bonfire  entirely," 
Father  Delahunty  said  thoughtfully.  "Though 
the  Lord  only  knows  who'll  be  burnt  up  in  it  in 
the  end — the  people  that  lit  it  as  likely  as  not. 
But  as  Cassidy'd  say,  may  the  devil  mend  them. 
Do  you  know  what,  James,"  turning  towards 
Mahon  :  "  I'm  taking  a  disgust  to  coursing  for 
the  last  couple  of  days.  I'm  beginning  to  think 
there's  something  to  be  said  for  the  hare." 

Father  Mahon  was  speechless  with  anger.  He 
gulped  down  mutton  and  cabbage  and  ham  and 
potatoes  as  fast  as  his  fork  could  convey  them  to 
his  mouth.  He  threw  down  his  knife  and  fork 
at  last,  saying — 

"  The  Church  must  be  purged  of  its  traitors." 

"Amen,  amen,"  Father  Mansuetudo  said 
fervently. 

"  That  reminds  me  of  a  good  story,"  Father 
Benignus  said,  wiping  his  greasy  mouth  with  a 
corner  of  his  napkin.  "  No  more,  thank  you, 
Father  James.  I'm  as  taut  as  a  drum — no  room 
for  anything  but  the  punch.  A  red-haired  woman 
once  came " 

"  Oh,  that  one ! "  Father  Mansuetudo  said 
uneasily.  "  Isn't  it  a  little  too — too— 

"  He's  as  scared  as  a  young  woman  the  night 


358  WAITING 

of  her  wedding,"  Father  Benignus  said  indulgently. 
"  Don't  you  know,  Father,  that  1  never  cross  the 
border  ?  " 

"  You  lean  damn  far  over  the  mearing  fence, 
then,"  Father  Delahunty  said  dryly. 

Father  Benignus  chuckled.  "  Besides,  Father 
Mansuetudo,"  he  said  gravely,  "  I  always  told 
you  there  was  a  good  moral  in  it." 

"  I'm  sorry  I  interrupted  you,"  his  subordinate 
said  meekly,  his  faith  in  Father  Prior  enabling 
him,  though  hesitatingly,  to  move  mountains. 

It  was  a  long  story,  and  was  interrupted  twice 
by  the  servant  who  came  in  to  remove  the  plates, 
and  again  with  hot  water.  Father  Mahon  was 
attentive  only  for  short  intervals,  when  his  harsh 
laugh  grated  through  his  teeth.  For  the  most  part 
he  was  following  thoughts  of  his  own,  his  lips  and 
face  twitching  spasmodically.  He  made  a  glass 
of  punch  and  passed  round  the  decanter.  He 
did  not  notice  the  close  of  the  tale.  Father 
Benignus  himself  gave  a  loud  guffaw  and  swallowed 
the  remainder  of  his  punch.  Father  Mansuetudo 
smiled  feebly.  Father  Delahunty  looked  through 
the  amber  liquid  in  his  glass  and  said,  "  Poor 
Blake."  Father  Brogan  leant  back  in  his  chair 
and  shook  with  laughter. 

"  The  best  I  ever  heard,"  he  said,  short  of 
breath.  "  That's  where  you  missioners  have  the 
pull  over  us  poor  seculars,"  he  added,  regretfully. 
"  Knocking  round  the  country  so  much,  you  get 
the  pick  of  the  basket  of  all  the  prime  stories 
going." 

Father  Benignus  looked  at  him  with  a  more 
kindly  eye. 

"  Oh,  I've  better  than  that,"  he  said,  chuckling. 


WAITING  359 

"  It's  nearly  six  o'clock — we  ought  to  be  going 
to  the  church,"  Father  Mansuetudo  said  hastily. 

Father  Benignus  sighed.  "Well,  well — the 
week  is  long.  Just  remind  me,  Father  Brogan, 
another  night,  of  Paudeen  Rafferty.  That ' 

Father  Mansuetudo  moved  back  his  chair. 

"  Oh,  it's  time,  is  it,"  Father  Mahon  said. 
"  Run  down,  Father  Brogan,  and  see  that  every- 
thing is  ready — that  the  collectors  are  at  the  doors, 
and  at  the  box." 

Father  Brogan  went  reluctantly,  Father  Man- 
suetudo at  his  heels. 

"  I'll  not  stir  out  of  this  till  I  have  another 
glass  to  oil  my  throat,"  Father  Benignus  said, 
grasping  the  decanter.  "  It's  as  dry  as  a  parched 
pea  this  minute,  and  I'll  be  putting  a  great  strain 
on  it  down  below." 

"  You  won't  fail  ? "  Father  Mahon  said 
doubtfully. 

"  I'll  fry  the  lad  till  he  wriggles  like  a  live  eel 
in  hot  grease,"  Father  Benignus  said  good- 
humouredly.  "  That's  very  good  whiskey,  Mahon." 

Father  Delahunty  stood  with  his  back  to  the 
fire.  Father  Mahon  came  towards  the  fireplace 
and  said,  with  an  effort  to  control  his  temper— 

"  You  know  you  pushed  me  too  far,  Delahunty 
— I  nearly  forgot  the  laws  of  hospitality." 

Father    Delahunty    smiled.      "  You    have    that 

virtue,  James — I    wish he    broke    off.     "  Is 

there    no    moving   you  ?     The    man's    own    parish 
too." 

Father  Mahon  straightened  himself  and  his  chin 
protruded.  "  I,  at  least,  know  my  duty  to  the 
Church." 

"  L'Eglise  c'est  moi." 


360  WAITING 

"  What's  that  ?  "  Father  Mahon  said  suspiciously. 

"  It's  Dutch  for  my  grandmother,"  Father 
Delahunty  said  moodily. 

Father  Mahon  looked  at  his  watch,  then, 
impatiently  at  Father  Benignus,  who  was  just 
finishing  his  punch. 

"  You  won't  even  tell  that  swipe  to  deal  decently 
with  the  subject  ?  "  Delahunty  said  in  a  low  tone, 
appealingly. 

"  The  guilty  have  only  themselves  to  blame. 
Come  on,  Father  Benignus." 

"  You're  coming  down  to  hear  me  ?  "  the  prior 
said  boisterously,  laying  an  affectionate  arm  on 
Delahunty's  shoulder.  "  I  feel  sure  I'll  surpass 
myself  to-night — I'm  that  worked  up." 

Father  Delahunty  did  not  seem  to  listen.  "  I 
must  get  back  to  Cassidy  and  decency,"  he  murmured 
to  himself. 

He  lingered  by  the  front  gate,  waiting  for  his 
trap.  Father  Mahon  and  the  missioner  passed  out, 
Father  Benignus  clasping  a  crucifix,  about  two  feet 
long,  to  his  breast.  The  silver  figure,  stretched  on 
the  cross,  shone  impassive  in  the  light  of  a  newly 
risen  moon. 

Father  Delahunty  looked  from  the  crucifix  to 
the  missioner's  face  and  muttered,  "  I'm  damned  if  it 
isn't  nearly  enough  to  make  one  have  some  respect 
for  the  Protestants." 

"  So  long,  then,  if  you  won't  come  to  hear  a 
treat,"  Father  Benignus  said  cheerily,  trotting  with 
short  steps  beside  Father  Mahon's  long  stride. 

"  Where  does  that  Blake  and  his  whore  live  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  In  the  village,"  Father  Mahon  said  gruffly. 

"  See,  if  they're  not  belled  out  before  me  and 


WAITING  361 

Mansuetudo  are  done  with  them — great  crowds 
entirely,"  he  added,  as  they  passed  several  groups  of 
people. 

"They're  a  stiff-necked  lot,"  Father  Mahon 
growled. 

"  Wait  till  I  pour  the  grace  of  God  over  them — 
I've  a  wonderful  gift  in  that  way — glory  be  to  His 
Holy  Name,"  Father  Benignus  said. 

The  path  from  the  church  gate  to  the  tower 
door  was  lined  with  canvas  tents,  open  in  front. 
Smoky  oil  lamps  cast  a  feeble  light  on  the  many 
objects  of  religion  exposed  for  sale  on  rough  wooden 
shelves — highly  coloured  pictures,  cheap  plaster 
statues,  rosaries,  little  leaden  saints,  holy  water 
stoups,  a  varied  assortment  of  paper-covered  books, 
ranging  from  "  Hell  opened  to  Christians  "  to  "  The 
Imitation  of  Christ,"  with  realistic  illustrations. 
One  stall,  more  ambitious  than  the  others,  was 
made  brilliant  by  a  naphtha  flare.  The  owner,  a 
ferret- face  little  man  with  bleary  eyes,  ran  after 
Father  Benignus  and  pulled  his  cloak. 

"  Hullo,  Jimmy.     Always  on  my  track." 

"And  why  wouldn't  I,  Father  Prior,  and  you 
such  a  seller." 

"  What's  your  best  line  this  time  ?  " 

"  Red  and  blue  plaster  saints — dirt  cheap,  and  a 
new  brand  of  crucifix." 

"All  right — I'll  lay  stress  on  them." 

"  I  won't  be  forgetting  your  reverence — God 
Almighty  pour  blessings  down  on  your  head  this 
night." 

Father  Benignus  bowed  left  and  right,  waved  his 
crucifix,  in  benediction,  in  response  to  the  doffing  of 
hats,  curtseys,  and  salutations  of  "  God  bless  you, 
Father."  The  thin  line  of  people  along  the  stalls 


362  WAITING 

merged  into  a  surging  crowd  at  the  front  door.  The 
rattle  of  money  in  the  wooden  collecting  boxes  and 
the  strident  voices  of  the  collectors  rose  above  the  din. 

"  Keep  back  there — crushing  won't  get  you  in 
without  your  tuppences." 

"  'Twas  never  more  than  a  penny  before." 

"  Any  one  that  hasn't  tuppence  in  the  heel  of 
his  fist'll  go  out  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck." 

Father  Mahon  had  passed  on.  Father  Benignus 
listened  a  while. 

"  Maurice  Blake."  "  His  wife  isn't  his  wife  at 
all,  they  tell  me."  "  The  holy  missioners'll  throw  a 
light  on  it."  "  If  he  was  a  Turk  itself  with  ten 
wives  I'd  give  him  my  vote."  "  Whist,  there's  the 
missioner  behind  you." 

"Wait  till  I  talk  to  'em,"  Father  Benignus 
chuckled  to  himself,  and  walked  on  towards  the 
sacristy.  "A  full  house,"  he  said  cheerfully  to 
Father  Brogan,  who  was  standing  beside  a  wooden 
sentry  box  with  "  Gallery,  sixpence  "  in  large  letters 
over  the  ticket  window.  "  It  ought  to  nett  out 
well.  I  thought  Mahon'd  forget  this  side  of  the 
business,  he's  so  bent  on  hounding  out  the  member 
fellow." 

"Catch  him  forgetting  this,  even  if  they  made  a 
pope  of  him,"  Brogan  said  with  a  leer. 

Inside  the  church  Father  Mahon  was  busy, 
driving  and  packing  people  into  seats.  "  Scrooge 
up — there's  room  for  another  there."  There  was 
some  sullen  murmuring,  but  no  active  resistance. 
"  I'm  in  no  one's  way  here.  Can't  you  let  me  be, 
Father."  "  Move  on,  I  tell  you,"  with  a  free  use 
of  the  wrist  and  knee  that  would  have  done  credit 
to  a  Rugby  forward  There  was  a  hum  of  conversa- 
tion in  which  "Blake,  Maurice,  wife,"  rose  to  the 


WAITING  363 

surface.    "  Silence  !  "  Father  Mahon  shouted.    "  Re- 
member you  are  in  the  house  of  God." 

The  stream  through  the  doors  ceased.  Every 
seat  was  occupied.  The  passages  were  filled  with 
swaying  worshippers.  Miss  Clancy  and  her  father 
and  mother  were  seated  within  the  sanctuary  close 
to  the  soutaned  and  surpliced  Father  Mahon 
and  Father  Brogan.  The  gaunt  figure  of  Father 
Mansuetudo  appeared  at  the  sacristy  door.  He 
advanced  to  the  altar,  knelt  in  prayer  for  a  minute, 
elbowed  his  way  to  the  pulpit,  and  gave  out 
the  rosary  to  which  the  congregation  made  re- 
sponse. As  he  drew  near  the  end,  Father  Benignus 
knelt  at  the  altar  steps  and  prayed  silently.  Father 
Mansuetudo  left  the  pulpit.  The  kneeling  wor- 
shippers rose  to  their  feet.  Before  they  had  settled 
in  their  seats,  or  had  found  a  comfortable  standing 
position,  Father  Benignus  was  in  the  pulpit,  the 
silver  crucifix,  gleaming  against  the  black  wood, 
held  aloft  in  his  right  hand,  while  with  his  left  he 
wiped  the  sweat  off  his  forehead  with  a  red  and  white 
check  handkerchief. 

He  began  quietly,  his  resonant  voice  filling  the 
church.  Unfortunately  the  mission  coincided  with 
a  contested  election.  But  their  first  duty  was  to 
their  souls.  Outside  the  church  the  turmoil  of  an 
election  might  claim  them  for  a  brief  moment,  for 
he  knew  they  were  good  Irishmen.  But  whether 
in  the  quiet  of  the  church,  in  peace  with  God,  or 
outside,  amid  all  the  winds  of  controversy,  during 
the  time  of  this  holy  mission  they  were  to  keep  God 
in  the  forefront  of  their  words,  their  thoughts,  and 
their  actions.  They  were  Irishmen,  and  were  no 
doubt  rightly  proud  of  it.  But  first  and  before  all 
they  were  Catholics,  soldiers  of  God  and  of  His  Holy 


364  WAITING 

Church.  They  were  slaves,  rightly  struggling  to  be 
free.  He'd  say  nothing  of  politics  beyond  this,  that 
the  great  freedom,  the  only  freedom  that  lasted  into 
the  next  world,  that  landed  a  man  in  heaven,  or  kept 
him  out  of  hell,  was  to  be  found,  and  found  only,  in 
absolute  obedience  to  the  Catholic  Church,  the  one 
true  religion  of  Jesus  Christ,  Who  was  speaking  to 
them  to-night  through  his  humble  lips.  But  to-night 
he  intended  to  talk  of  religion  only — of  the  great 
sacrament  of  marriage. 

Every  Catholic  that  was  properly  married  was  a 
temple  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  had  for  a  symbol  the 
mystic  union  of  Christ  and  the  Church.  Every 
Catholic  who  wasn't  rightly  married  was  a  spawning 
ground  of  hell. 

And  what  was  being  rightly  married  ? 

He  boggled  somewhat  over  the  explanation. 
Father  Mahon  frowned.  "  He  knows  less  theology 
than  you  do,  and  that's  saying  a  good  deal,"  he  mut- 
tered angrily  to  Father  Brogan. 

But  Father  Benignus  had  again  got  into  his  stride. 
"  You  see  how  this  beautiful  Ne  Temere  decree  sim- 
plifies matters.  A  marriage  of  a  Catholic,  say,  with  a 
Protestant  in  a  registry  office,  that  used  to  be  a  valid 
marriage,  though  it  was  always  damnable,  is  no 
longer  valid." 

Loud  talk  broke  out  here  and  there  in  the 
church. 

"  Silence,"  he  thundered,  "  while  the  voice  of 
God  is  speaking."  He  waved  the  crucifix  violently. 
When  silence  was  restored  he  continued,  "  This  is 
what  every  good  Catholic  here  has  to  remember  to- 
night :  since  the  passing  of  that  noble  decree  every 

Catholic  man  married  to  a  Protestant  woman " 

he  paused,  evidently  in  doubt  as  to  whether  he 


WAITING  365 

would  reverse  the  sexes  under  each  religious  head- 
ing. But  he  only  repeated,  "  Every  Catholic  man 
married  to  a  Protestant  woman  in  a  registry  office  is 
no  more  married  in  the  sight  of  God  than  the  cats 
prowling  round  the  streets  at  night." 

"  Oh,  my  God,  my  God  !  "  Mary  Blake  moaned 
aloud  from  a  side  pew. 

"  In  a  registry  office — mind  that — it's  important. 
His  wife  is  no  better  than  a  woman  off  the  streets, 

and  his  children  are "  he  paused  dramatically. 

"  But  I  won't  sully  my  lips  with  vile  names — though, 
after  all,  what  are  they  but  the  protest  of  the  holy 
virtue  of  purity  against  abominable  vice.  If,  in  your 
natural  indignation,  you  are  tempted  to  use  them,  I, 
for  one,  would  find  it  hard  to  blame  you,"  his  voice 
trailed  off  on  a  sorrowful  note. 

"  Come  out  of  this,  woman,"  Tom  Blake  said, 
taking  his  wife  roughly  by  the  arm.  She  followed 
him  with  a  scared  face  as  he  elbowed  his  way  through 
the  thronged  passage.  Jim  Reardon,  his  wife,  and 
half  a  dozen  young  men  rose  to  follow.  In  a  moment 
all  the  congregation  seemed  to  be  engaged  in  loud 
argument.  Father  Mahon  stood  at  the  altar  rails, 
gesticulating  furiously. 

"  Stop,"  Father  Benignus  shouted,  in  a  voice 
that  dominated  the  church.  He  stood  on  tiptoe, 
and  held  the  crucifix  high  above  his  head  with  a 
rigid  arm.  "  Stand  still,  and  be  silent  in  the  name 
of  God." 

There  was  a  sudden  hush.     Even  Tom  stood. 

u  In  scenes  like  this  before  now — and  the  virtue 
isn't  gone  out  of  the  priest  of  God  even  to-day — 
the  voices  that  interrupted  were  struck  dumb,  and 
people  that  attempted  to  leave  their  seats  were 
gripped  to  them  tight." 


366  WAITING 

"  Though  he's  a  queer  man  itself,  maybe  we 
ought  to  go  back,"  Minnie  said  in  a  frightened  voice. 

"  We're  not  afraid  of  bird-lime,"  Tom  said  de- 
fiantly. He  had  an  easier  passage  now  to  the  door. 

The  people  held  back,  half  scared.  Several 
whispered,  "  I  wouldn't  make  so  much  of  him." 
"  Let  him  spit  it  all  out."  "  Who  heeds  him  ?  " 

Tom  and  Minnie  alone  left  the  church.  Jim 
Reardon  and  the  others  sank  back  in  their  seats  or 
remained  in  the  passage-way. 

"  Kneel  down,"  Father  Benignus  shouted, 
"  and  make  reparation  to  an  offended  God  for 
such  an  outrage."  Kneeling  in  the  pulpit  he 
said  a  short  prayer.  "  No  more  married  than 
prowling  cats,"  he  thundered  at  the  top  of  his 
voice  when  the  people  had  resumed  their  seats, 
and  his  crucifix  was  again  in  position.  His  squat 
figure  seemed  to  distend.  His  eyes  gleamed  fire. 
He  had  the  full  attention  of  his  audience  now. 
The  majority  were  awed,  many  were  sullen  and 
resentful,  but  all  listened  with  necks  craned  forward. 
The  shuffling  of  feet,  in  the  passages  and  aisles,  ceased. 
There  wasn't  a  sound  in  the  church  except  the  boom- 
ing voice  of  the  preacher.  He  changed  the  crucifix 
to  his  left  hand  and  thumped  the  ledge  of  the  pulpit 
with  his  right.  "  What  is  that  man  ?  A  traitor  to  his 
religion  and  to  his  Church.  Every  day  that  he 
persists  in  his  sin,  in  his  crime,  he  plants  a  crown  of 
thorns  on  the  head  of  his  God.  Look  at  our  Divine 
Lord  writhing  there  on  the  cross."  He  held  out  the 
crucifix.  "  That  sinful  traitor  pierces  His  side  with 
a  lance,  spits  in  His  face."  He  paused,  and  a  long- 
drawn  sigh  seemed  to  rend  the  church. 

"  Such  things  are  not  likely  to  be  done  in  a 
parish  like  this,  but  if  they  were,  what  is  your 


WAITING  367 

duty  to  yourselves  and  to  your  wives  and  children, 
to  your  fellow-men,  to  your  priests,  to  your  religion, 
to  your  reviled  and  outraged  God  ?  This  is  a  public 
sin  and  demands  public  punishment  If  you  have  a 
bad  tooth  you  pull  it  out,  a  rotten  member,  you  cut 
it  off." 

He  paused  again,  and  then,  in  language  of  the 
fiercest  denunciation,  in  metaphors  that  mixed  and 
tumbled  over  one  another,  he  left  no  place  on  earth 
or  in  heaven,  on  which  a  Catholic  man  who  married 
a  Protestant  woman  in  a  registry  office  should  be 
allowed  to  rest  the  sole  of  an  untroubled  foot. 

He  walked  like  a  drunken  man  to  the  sanctuary, 
wiping  his  streaming  head  with  his  handkerchief. 
Conversation  broke  out  loud  all  over  the  church. 

"  Couldn't  be  better,"  Father  Mahon  said,  grasp- 
ing the  preacher's  hand. 

"  The  hammer  of  the  Lord,"  Father  Mansue- 
tudo  murmured  with  glistening  eyes. 

"There  are  a  queer  lot  of  humbugs  in  the 
world,"  Father  Brogan  said,  admiring  his  sleeve 
links. 

"  I  feel  in  the  marrow  of  my  bones  that  I  did  it," 
Father  Benignus  said  huskily,  "  but  Lord,  I've  the 
drought  of  a  limekiln  on  me." 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

IN  an  hour  the  whole  division  had  awakened  from 
apathy.  In  every  chapel  yard  in  twenty-nine  parishes 
Maurice  Blake's  marriage  was  discussed  in  varying 
degrees  of  excitement ;  even  in  Father  Delahunty's 
parish,  notwithstanding  the  well- modulated  douche 
of  cold  water,  there  were  surmises  as  to  the  mean- 
ing of  the  marked  passage  in  the  Liscannow  News. 
The  Timminsites  openly  rejoiced.  Blake's  sup- 
porters, for  the  most  part,  spoke  under  their  breaths, 
with  much  shaking  of  heads,  cautiously,  or  slunk 
home  quietly  to  discuss  the  situation  with  more 
freedom  in  the  seclusion  of  their  firesides.  Some 
young  men  shouted  defiance. 

Maurice  had  dined  in  Liscannow  with  Dr. 
Grace,  and  went  with  him  and  Duffy  to  hear  the 
mission  sermon  at  the  cathedral.  In  a  back  seat  in 
one  of  the  aisles,  under  the  shadow  of  the  organ 
gallery,  he  listened  in  vague  wonder  to  an  attack  on 
some  unnamed  fiend  in  human  form,  without  faith 
or  morals  or  conscience,  unworthy  of  trust,  a  traitor, 
a  renegade,  false  to  his  country  and  to  his  religion. 
Under  the  fascination  of  the  preacher's  voice  he 
hardly  thought  of  the  sermon  as  having  any  relation 
to  himself.  He  could  hardly  take  his  eyes  off  the 
refined  face  of  the  speaker,  his  thin  lips  pouring 
out  corrosive  acid  in  silky  tones,  without  anger  or 
resentment,  but  with  an  occasional  gleam  of  white 


WAITING  369 

teeth,  and  a  half-contemptuous  play  of  the  lips  and 
nose.  Once  or  twice  Maurice  glanced  from  the 
preacher  to  the  bishop,  seated  on  the  episcopal 
throne,  calm  and  impassive,  wearing  an  air  of 
sadness. 

"  Let  us  get  out  before  the  crowd,"  Duffy  said, 
when  the  sermon  was  finished.  Small  groups  of 
excited  talkers  were,  however,  already  in  the 
grounds.  Men  nudged  one  another  as  Maurice 
passed.  A  few  jeered.  Three  or  four  of  his  sup- 
porters raised  a  feeble  cheer.  A  group  booed,  half 
in  amusement,  and  broke  off  in  a  laugh. 

"Put  that  in  your  pipe  and  smoke  it,  Blake," 
one  said. 

"  They'll  have  more  heart  in  them  when  Timmins 
opens  the  pubs  to-morrow,  he  has  them  all,"  Duffy 
said  dryly.  "  Come  along  to  my  house.  Out  of 
respect  to  the  holy  mission  we  have  no  meeting 
to-night,"  he  added  bitterly. 

"  You  didn't  mind  that  fool  in  the  pulpit  ? " 
Dr.  Grace  said  as  they  passed  through  a  slum 
street. 

"  Oh  no,"  Maurice  said  dully. 

"  The  smell  here'd  knock  down  a  horse.  Why 
don't  you  do  something,  Grace  ? "  Duffy  said, 
putting  his  handkerchief  to  his  nose. 

"  1  report  these  houses  once  a  month — waste- 
paper  basket,"  Grace  said,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"Who  owns  them  ?" 

"  Timmins — the  worst  of  them." 

This  somehow  roused  Maurice.  He  looked  at 
the  wretched  houses,  with  their  broken  doors,  roofs, 
and  windows. 

"  Can  nothing  be  done  ?  "  he  said. 

"We're  making  the  best  effort  we  can  in  this 

2  B 


370  WAITING 

election,"  Grace  said  gravely.  After  a  few  seconds 
he  laughed.  "  Often  1  think  we  are  taking  ourselves 
too  seriously.  Fitz  may  be  right  after  all  in  taking 
life  as  a  joke.  I  almost  regret  1  wasn't  built  like 
him." 

"You  don't,"  Maurice  said  gently. 

"  Well,  maybe  I  don't.  But  there  you  are," 
waving  his  hand  towards  the  houses.  "  Timmins 
is  killing  off  these  poor  devils  like  flies.  The 
death-rate  in  this  street  would  make  your  hair 
stand  on  end.  The  few  that  are  left'll  be  shouting 
1  up  Timmins '  during  the  week  in  sheer  gratitude 
for  being  alive.  But  maybe,  they're  cynical,  and 
think  that  this  excitement  will  make  him  drink  him- 
self to  death." 

"  Poor  fellow,"  Maurice  said. 

This  made  Grace  angry.  "  Nonsense,"  he  said 
roughly. 

Maurice  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  The 
usually  mild  face  was  distorted. 

"  You're  strong  enough  in  action,  Blake,  but 
you  have  too  many  soft  spots  in  you.  Poor 
Timmins  !  indeed.  Poor  Timmins  !  If  you  were 
a  doctor  in  this  damned  town — sentimental  clap- 
trap," he  muttered  as  Duffy  opened  a  door  with  a 
latch-key. 

When  Duffy  had  turned  on  the  gas  in  his  study, 
Grace  began  again.  "  I  don't  know  what's  come 
over  me,"  he  said  apologetically.  "  It's  the  hypo- 
crisy of  that  sermon,  I  suppose.  You've  tried  to 
act  decently  all  your  life  and  now  you're  going  to 
be  broken " 

"  But  I  won't  be  broken,"  Maurice  said  quietly. 

"  For  Timmins,  the  tried  and  proved  lover  of  his 
country,"  Grace  went  on  heatedly,  without  noticing 


WAITING  371 

the  interruption.  "  My  God  !  it's  enough  to  make 
a  man  sick.  Timmins  puts  up  stained  glass  windows 
in  the  cathedral  and  does  jobs  for  the  bishop  on  the 
local  boards  in  the  intervals  of  D.T.'s " 

"  You're  down  on  Timmins  because  the  fever 
always  starts  in  Friar's  Row.  But  it's  the  priests 
we're  up  against  now,"  Duffy  interrupted.  "  He's 
mad  on  sanitation,"  he  added  wryly  to  Maurice. 
"  Look  here,  Blake,  I've  made  a  few  notes  of  that 
sermon.  They'll  come  in  useful  in  a  petition  if  they 
beat  us." 

He  held  out  an  envelope  on  which  he  had 
scribbled  in  pencil.  Maurice  read  the  notes  and 
dropped  the  envelope  into  the  fire. 

"  I'll  get  in  by  votes  or  not  at  all,"  he  said. 

"  Quixotish,"  Duffy  said  with  a  shrug.  "  Come 
let  us  draw  up  the  programme  for  the  week.  ..." 

Maurice  had  only  a  confused  impression  of  the 
week  preceding  the  poll.  He  saw  the  best  and  the 
worst  of  men.  Friends  that  he  had  known  and 
loved  from  childhood  looked  at  him  askance,  or 
passed  him  by  without  recognition.  Mere  ac- 
quaintances and  strangers  became  his  warm  friends. 
Irritation,  anger,  joy,  resentment,  and  a  fierce 
pleasure  moved  him  in  turns.  There  was  no  rest 
for  his  feet,  for  his  mind,  for  his  emotions.  Every 
day  supporters  deserted  him.  Every  day  he  dis- 
covered finer  qualities  in  the  friends  that  remained. 
He  was  hooted  and  jeered  at,  pelted  with  rotten 
eggs,  called  ribald  names.  Alice  was  rescued  from 
a  mob  of  roughs,  who  rushed  her  through  the 
main  street  of  Liscannow,  by  Dr.  Fitzpatrick,  who 
had  now  openly  taken  Timmins's  side.  Father 
Mahon,  who  saw  the  attack,  called  it  "  a  splendid 


372  WAITING 

display  of  religious  enthusiasm."  The  windows  ot 
Driscoll's  cottage  were  broken  :  Teigue  Donlon  and 
Dempsey  were  caught  hanging  dead  cats  to  the  gate 
posts.  Mary  Blake  begged  Maurice,  on  her  knees, 
to  go  back  to  Dublin  and  give  up  the  contest. 
Then  she  kissed  him  and  said  she'd  scrape  the  eyes 
out  of  the  mean  hounds  that  called  little  Maureen  a 
bastard.  He  had  to  give  up  his  rooms  in  Leary's 
Hotel.  Mrs.  Leary  said  she  couldn't  sleep  at  night 
with  the  fear  of  hell  that  was  on  her,  on  the  head  of 
him,  since  she  was  with  the  missioner  at  confession. 
From  all  districts  he  heard  that  the  attacks  from  the 
pulpit  had  become  more  pointed  ;  that  persuasion 
and  threats  of  punishment,  temporal  and  eternal, 
were  being  used  freely  in  the  confessional.  His 
marriage  was  not  referred  to  by  Timmins  or  his 
helpers,  in  their  public  speeches,  but  Maurice's 
speeches  were  interrupted  by  constant  allusions  to  it 
in  the  vilest  language. 

Two  nights  before  the  poll, at  a  committee  meeting 
in  Grace's  rooms,  Tom  said,  "  We're  losing  ground 
every  day.  Monday  last,  in .  spite  of  the  big  splash 
on  Sunday  night  and  all,  we  might  have  won." 

"  Timmins  isn't  making  much  of  a  fight — Fitzy 
tells  me  he's  nearly  done  up.  And  our  fellows 
here  are  magnificent,"  Dr.  Grace  said  hopefully. 

"  It's  different  in  the  country  places.  The 
preaching  every  night,  and  the  back-door  business  in 
the  confessional,  is  telling  on  'em  more  there.  I'm 
not  sure  of  my  own  father-in-law.  I'm  near  certain 
he's  agin  us.  And  my  father  even  is  keeping  as 
quiet  as  a  mouse.  Only  that  he  has  a  spite  agin 
Father  Mahon  for  fifty  pounds  he  says  he  did  him 
out  of  once,  it's  as  likely  as  not  that  he'd  be  voting 
agin  Maurice." 


WAITING  373 

"  It's  extraordinary,"  Grace  said  musingly. 
"  I've  given  up  being  angry  about  it — it's  beyond 
me.  This  morning  I  was  called  in  to  a  case  in 
Friars  Row — typhus,  I  fear,  aggravated  by  drink. 
1 1  beg  your  pardon,  doctor,'  the  fellow  said  as  I 
was  going,  *  for  throwing  that  brick-bat  at  you  at  the 
meeting  last  night ' — fortunately  it  only  knocked 
my  hat  off — c  but  I  had  a  drop  of  drink  in  me.' 
4  You  might  have  thrown  it  at  Timmins,  who  gave 
you  this  fever,'  I  said.  *  Sure,'  he  said, c  the  fever  is 
only  the  will  of  God,  but  you're  on  the  side  of  the 
devil  himself,  may  God  pardon  you.  Do  you  think 
you'll  have  me  out  on  the  poll-day,  doctor  ? '  '  He 
laughed  heartily.  "We're  all  on  the  side  of 
Timmins.  Even  I  try  to  cure  his  victims.  You 
haven't  the  ghost  of  a  chance,  Blake.  If  you  were 
only  a  slum  owner  now,  dispensing  the  will  of 
God  in  the  shape  of  typhus,  and  giving  a  good 
Catholic  people  the  chance  of  practising  the  virtue 
of  resignation,  you  might " 

"  For  God's  sake,  keep  Grace  off  his  hobby," 
Duffy  said  anxiously. 

Shouts  arose  from  the  street.  A  drum  was 
beaten  loudly  beneath  the  window.  There  was  a 
crash  of  glass,  and  a  potato  bounded  off  the  wall 
on  to  the  table  round  which  the  committee  sat. 

"  They're  out  from  the  mission — and  in  a  holy 
mood,  God  bless  them,"  Duffy  said  calmly.  "  Come 
along — we  have  a  meeting  in  the  market  square. 
One — two — three — four  panes  gone  already,  and 
there's  no  use  in  getting  new  glass  before  Saturday 
night.  The  whole  of  the  windows'll  probably  be 
gone  by  then.  We  have  a  glazier  on  our  side, 
haven't  we,  Tracy  ?  " 


374  WAITING 

On  the  morning  of  the  poll  Bourneen  was  white 
with  snow  freshly  fallen  in  the  night.  The  sky 
was  clear  but  sullen,  almost  black  against  the  dead 
white  of  the  ground.  The  slanted  roof  of  the  police 
barrack  sparkled  more  brightly  than  the  bleak  sun 
itself.  Maureen  stood  at  the  door  of  the  cottage  in 
silent  wonder. 

"  Maureen's  powder,"  she  said  at  last. 

"  Snow,"  Alice  said. 

"  Maureen  touch,"  the  child  said,  suiting  the 
action  to  the  word.  "  Cold,"  she  said,  with  the  awe 
of  one  making  a  scientific  discovery. 

Alice  took  her  up  in  her  arms,  clasped  her  to 
her  breast  and  kissed  her  warmly. 

"  Daddy  coming  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  dear,"  Alice  said,  drawing  the  child 
closer. 

Maureen  fingered  a  pin  in  the  collar  of  her 
mother's  blouse,  murmuring,  "  Pretty,  pretty." 

Men  passed  the  gate  on  their  way  to  the  polling 
booth,  in  the  school-house  near  by,  but  Alice  was 
looking  beyond  them,  to  the  sharp,  white  peak  of 
Slieve  Mor  piercing  the  leaden  sky.  It  was  all  so 
still  and  peaceful.  Even  sounds  had  a  depth  and 
clearness  which  only  intensified  the  silence  that 
seemed  to  brood  over  the  landscape.  The  latch 
of  the  gate  clicked  and  Bessy  Reilly  came  up  the 
path.  Alice  put  down  the  child  and  smiled  a 
welcome. 

"  How  is  the  man  of  the  house  ? "  Bessy  said, 
jerking  her  head  towards  Driscoll's  bedroom. 

"  Not  well." 

"Why,  you've  everything  done,"  Bessy  grumbled, 
looking  round  the  kitchen. 

"  Maureen  got  toast — milk,"  the  child  said. 


WAITING  375 

"  I  was  up  all  night  and  I  had  to  do  something," 
Alice  said. 

Bessy  pottered  about.  "  It's  women  that  do  the 
suffering.  The  poor  old  master — not  but  he'd 
rather  go  down  the  hill  without  being  a  trouble  to 
any  one.  Still  there  you  are — and  you  having 
enough  on  your  mind  as  it  is,  and  your  own  man 
going  to  be  beat,  they  say." 

Alice's  tired  eyes  brightened  and  a  faint  flush 
tinged  her  cheeks.  She  touched  Maureen's  hair 
with  her  fingers. 

"  Oh  no  ;  he'll  win,"  she  said  confidently. 

"Well,  'tis  you're  the  queer  woman,  to  go  on 
saying  the  like  of  that,  and  Tom  Blake  himself 
telling  me  a  minute  ago  up  at  the  school  gate,  that 
there  was  as  much  chance  of  it  as  of  me  being  a 
queen." 

"  Who  knows,  but  you  are,"  Alice  said 
gently. 

"  It's  the  want  of  sleep  that's  rising  in  your 
head.  If  you'd  only  go  and  lie  down  for  a  bit,  I'd 
look  after  the  child  as  if  'twas  my  own,"  Bessy  said 
anxiously. 

"  Would  you  warm  the  chicken  jelly  ?  I  might 
get  the  master  to  take  a  little,"  Alice  said,  going 
towards  the  bedroom. 

Driscoll  smiled  as  she  entered.  He  tried  to  sit 
up  but  he  fell  back  exhausted.  He  panted  for  a 
few  seconds. 

"  I'm  better — feeling  grand  entirely,"  he  mur- 
mured in  a  weak  voice.  "  I'm  well  able  to  get  up — 
I  must  go  out  and  give  my  vote." 

"  He  won't  need  it.  And  the  doctor  said  you 
weren't  to  get  up.  He's  going  to  win — by  ever  so 
much,"  she  said. 


376  WAITING 

"Tom  told  me  the  truth  yesterday,"  he  said 
reproachfully. 

"Then  he'll  need  the  vote  less,"  she  said. 

"  I'd  feel  the  better  for  it — and  to  give  a  vote 
for  him  in  his  own  schoolhouse  too." 

He  lay  quite  still  with  his  eyes  closed.  Bessy 
brought  in  the  chicken  jelly.  He  took  some,  and 
asked  again  to  be  allowed  to  get  up.  Alice  shook  her 
head.  He  lay  back  and  shut  his  eyes. 

Bessy  beckoned  Alice  out  of  the  room.  "  I 
doubt  but  we  ought  to  be  getting  the  priest  for 
him,"  she  said  in  a  whisper. 

Alice  shuddered.  "  Is  it  necessary  ?  But,  of 
course,  it  is,"  she  added  hastily. 

"  We  might  get  the  young  curate  coming  on  the 
night.  I  wouldn't  like  to  bring  in  the  big  man  and 
he  in  that  temper." 

After  dinner  Driscoll  slept  quietly.  Alice  went 
for  a  rest  in  her  own  room.  It  was  almost  dark 
when  she  awoke  with  a  start.  On  her  way  through 
the  kitchen,  Maureen  called  out  from  Bessy's 
lap — 

"  Grandpa  Driscoll,  bye-bye.  Mammy,  bye- 
bye.  Only  Maureen  wake-up." 

Driscoll  was  sitting  limply  on  the  side  of  his 
bed  partially  dressed. 

"  It's  no  use,  Alice,"  he  said,  with  a  flicker  of 
his  old  smile.  "  If  you  don't  help  me,  I'll  go  like 
this,  and  maybe  fall  in  the  snow." 

She  argued,  but  he  was  firm.  She  went  in 
despair  to  Bessy,  who  said — 

"  Best  let  him  have  his  way.  A  day  more  or 
less  in  this  world  isn't  of  much  account  to  a  man 
that's  sure  to  have  heaven  for  his  bed.  And  the 
doctor  told  me  he  was  done  for  this  time.  Maybe, 


WAITING  377 

he'd  die  happier  if  his  mind  is  set  on  it.  I'll  run 
out  and  get  a  few  of  the  neighbours — decent  ones — 
to  carry  him.  They're  round  the  school  gate  in 
droves." 

Hinnissey  and  Jim  Reardon  helped  Driscoll  to 
the  schoolhouse. 

"  How  are  they  voting  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Most  of  your  training,  master,  as  far  as  one  can 
know  without  seeing  into  the  box,  are  going  right, 
thank  God.  But  there's  bad  news  from  other  parts. 
And  some  here  itself,  my  bad  scran  to  'em,  are  led 
away  by  the  missioners,"  Hinnissey  said,  his  voice 
rising  angrily. 

A  knot  of  men  by  the  gate,  hearing  Hinnissey's 
last  sentence,  booed  vigorously,  and  shouted,  "  Up 
Timmins — down  with  adultery." 

"  It  isn't  Teigue  -Donlon  1  see  among  them  ? 
And  the  man  with  the  stick  raised  is  like  your 
father,  Jim,"  Driscoll  said  uneasily. 

Hinnissey  hurried  him  forward.  "  Sure,  master, 
'tis  your  eyes  are  good  yet,  seeing  that  likeness  ! 
Two  mountainy  fellows  they  are,  and  the  living 
image  of  the  men  you  mentioned.  Any  one'd  be 
deceived  in  the  darkness  of  the  night  that's  near 
upon  us.  Wouldn't  he,  Jim  ?  " 

"  He  would  then,"  Jim  Reardon  said  hesi- 
tatingly. 

While  his  name  was  being  looked  up  in  the 
register,  the  old  man  gazed  round  the  school  sadly, 
at  the  torn  maps  and  stained  walls.  He  was  handed 
a  voting  paper. 

"  It's  going  to  rack  and  ruin,"  he  said  feebly. 

He  had  to  be  reminded  twice  to  fill  the  paper. 
"That's  a  good  day's  work,"  he  said  with  a  smile  as 
it  disappeared  into  the  ballot-box. 


378  WAITING 

At  his  own  gate  his  head  fell  on  Hinnissey's 
shoulder.  They  laid  him  on  his  bed  unconscious. 

"  The  priest,  the  priest,  for  the  love  of  God," 
Bessy  Reilly  said  excitedly.  Driscoll  opened  his 
eyes.  "  But  maybe,  he  wouldn't  want  him  yet 
awhile,  as  the  life  is  in  him  again,"  she  said. 

"  I  think  it's  time  I  had  him — I  haven't  far  to 
run  now,"  he  said  in  short  breaths. 

"  Which  of  them  would  you  rather  to  see  you 
on  the  road  ?  "  Bessy  said,  as  she  took  off  his  boots  : 
"  the  young  man  or  the  big  man  ?  " 

"  It's  all  one  to  me — either  one  or  the  other  can 
lift  the  hand  of  God  over  me." 

"  Run  across  for  the  young  curate  then,  Jim," 
Bessy  said  with  relief. 

Alice  helped  to  put  Driscoll  to  bed.  He  fell 
back  contentedly  on  the  pillow. 

"  I'm  ready  now,  when  'twill  please  the  Lord  to 
take  me,"  he  said  with  a  sigh.  Maureen  began  to 
cry  in  the  kitchen.  "  I'd  like  to  see  her,  and  then 
I  wouldn't,"  he  said  half  to  himself.  "Take  her 
away  to  bed,  Bessy,  out  of  the  sight  of  death." 

"  Would  you  hand  me  my  beads,  Alice  ?  They're 
hanging  to  the  bedpost,"  he  said  after  a  few  minutes. 
"  And,  now,  we  must  prepare  for  the  priest.  That 
table  there — that's  it.  I  had  it  ready  this  many  a 
year  against  my  death.  You'll  find  everything 
in  the  drawers — the  white  cloth,  the  candles,  the 
crucifix.  The  holy  water  is  here  on  the  wall.  Now, 
is  there  anything  else  ?  Some  plain  water  and  a 
towel  to  wash  his  hands,  and  a  piece  of  breadcrumb 
to  wipe  the  holy  oil  off  his  fingers." 

He  spoke  with  difficulty,  with  intervals  for 
breath  between  the  sentences,  sometimes  between  the 
words,  but  with  a  calm  seriousness,  as  if  death  were 


WAITING  379 

a  visitor  to  be  received  with  some  ceremony,  yet 
not  too  ceremoniously.  Fingering  his  beads  he 
watched  Alice  moving  about  and  placing  things  in 
order.  When  all  was  ready  he  said — 

"  I  doubt  if  God  reads  the  label  on  a  person  to 
see  whether  it's  Protestant  or  Catholic.  He's  more 
knowledgable  than  all  that.  Soon,  maybe,  I'll  know 
the  rights  of  things.  Anyway,  a  saint  out  of  heaven 
couldn't  tend  a  man  better  to  his  death — and  you  a 
Protestant,  too." 

"  I  must  send  for  Maurice,"  Alice  said  brokenly. 

"  Don't,  then,"  he  said  firmly,  rousing  himself  a 
little.  "  It's  enough  he  has  on  his  mind  this  night, 
and  not  to  have  the  burthen  of  me  on  him.  There's 
only  one  thing  I  want  to  say  to  him,  and  I  can  say  it 
to  you  equally  well.  I  near  did  him  and  you  a 
great  wrong  once.  I  tried  to  come  between  ye  ; 
but,  sure,  God  knew  best.  The  things  that  were 
near  at  hand  blinded  me — Maurice's  work  in  the 
school,  and  in  the  parish.  They  were  great  things, 
too,  in  their  way.  But  it's  only  lately  it  dawned  on 
me  that  there  are  greater.  The  love  of  you  opened 
Maurice's  eyes  to  them.  Maybe  it  opened  mine, 
too.  All  the  good  that  a  man  has  is  his  life  and 
his  power  to  love.  If  these  are  chained  up  he's  only 
pottering  about,  fettered  and  useless.  A  free  country 
is  free  men,  and  no  man  is  free  as  long  as  the  soul 
is  crushed  in  him." 

He  fell  back  exhausted. 

Bessie  beckoned  excitedly  from  the  door.  She 
drew  Alice  out  into  the  kitchen  and  whispered — 

"  The  curate  couldn't  be  found  anywhere.  Jim 
ransacked  the  whole  place.  He  isn't  at  home,  nor 
in  Father  James's,  nor  in  the  chapel,  nor  with  Miss 
Clancy  playing  the  piano.  And  there  isn't  tale  or 


380  WAITING 

tidings  of  him.     So  I  had  to  pack  the  boy  off  again 
for  the  big  man." 

"  Everything  is  ready,"  Alice  said. 

"  There's  a  nice  fire  in  the  sitting-room,  and  the 
child's  asleep.  Maybe  you'd  be  sitting  there  ? " 
Bessy  said  anxiously. 

"  I  can't  leave  him,"  Alice  said,  turning  back 
towards  the  bedroom. 

Bessie  fingered  her  apron  uneasily,  threw  out 
her  hands,  pursed  her  lips  and  muttered,  "  Well — 
I  have  done  my  part.  If  she  isn't  afeared,  maybe — 
anyway,  the  big  man  can't  swallow  her." 

Driscoll  was  dozing.  Alice  sat  on  the  chair 
by  the  bed.  Soon  she  was  nodding,  half  asleep. 
She  was  awakened  by  Driscoll's  voice. 

"That's  Father  Mahon  in  the  kitchen." 

She  started,  stood  up  and  listened,  her  hand 
on  the  back  of  the  chair. 

"  A  nice  time  to  send  for  me  and  ye  well  know- 
ing the  mission  sermon  is  to  begin  in  a  minute. 
Well,  where  is  he  ? "  came  in  a  loud  hectoring  voice. 

Bessy  opened  the  door.  Father  Mahon  bustled 
into  the  bedroom.  He  stopped  short  and  glared 
at  Alice.  He  muttered  something,  half  turned,  faced 
her  again,  hesitated  as  if  he  were  about  to  speak. 
His  lips  moved  inaudibly.  He  took  hold  of  the 
chair  on  which  her  hand  rested,  jerking  it  off 
roughly,  and  sat  down.  She  stood  silent  and  con- 
fused. 

"  What  are  you  waiting  for  ?  A  man's  con- 
fession is  supposed  to  be  private,"  he  said  with 
heavy  sarcasm. 

"  There's  nothing  else  I  can  do,  Mr.  Driscoll  ? " 
she  said  quietly  to  the  old  man,  whose  eyes  were 
again  closed. 


WAITING  381 

"  No,  child — you've  done  everything.  You're 
welcome,  Father,"  he  said,  noticing  Father  Mahon 
for  the  first  time. 

The  priest  waited  till  Alice  had  shut  the  door 
behind  her.  He  put  on  a  purple  stole,  with  a 
frown. 

"  Are  you  bad  enough  to  be  anointed  ? "  he 
said  roughly. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  was  only  holding  on  by  a  thread, 
and  the  doctor  gave  me  up  long  ago." 

"  Well,  begin  your  confession.  Benedictio  Dei 
.  .  ."  He  waved  his  hand  in  blessing.  He  bit  his 
upper  lip,  frowned,  and  bit  his  nails  impatiently 
while  Driscoll  was  speaking. 

"  That's  all  I  can  remember,  Father,"  he  wound 
up  with  a  faint  smile,  "  and  I  beg  God's  pardon  and 
yours." 

"  And  what  about  the  public  scandal  you've  been 
giving  in  my  parish  for  the  last  month  ?  "  Father 
Mahon  asked  violently. 

"  Scandal — scandal,"  Driscoll  murmured  feebly. 
"  Maybe  I  was  forgetting  something.  I  spoke 
cross  once  to  Bessy  Reilly  in  front  of  people,  but 
sure,  I  forgot  it  the  minute  after,  and  she  took  no 
heed  of  it  at  all." 

"  None  of  this  quibbling  on  your  death-bed," 
Father  Mahon  said  angrily,  pulling  violently  at  the 
gold  wire  threads  at  the  end  of  his  stole. 

Driscoll's  jaw  dropped.  He  gazed  at  the  priest 
in  feeble  astonishment.  He  tried  to  move  his  lips, 
but  he  could  not  make  them  meet. 

"  Harbouring  an  unmarried  couple  in  your 
house  !  Flying  in  my  face,  and  in  the  face  of 
God,  and  of  His  Holy  Church  !  Do  you  think 
that's  nothing  to  confess  ?  " 


382  WAITING 

The  priest's  increasing  anger  seemed  to  make 
Driscoll  calm. 

"  I've  no  fear  of  God  on  the  head  of  that.  I 
feel  in  my  heart  there's  no  sin  on  them,  nor  on  me 
either.  Give  me  absolution,  Father,  and  let  me  be 
going  my  way." 

The  priest  took  off  his  stole.  With  set  teeth 
he  began  to  wind  it  round  the  ritual  he  had  let  fall 

D 

in  his  lap. 

"  You're  a  public  sinner  equally  with  them,"  he 
said,  his  voice  shaking  with  passion.  "  You'll  get 
no  sacrament,  no  absolution,  no  communion,  no 
anointing  from  me,  a  priest  of  God,  till  you  repent 
of  your  sin,  and  make  reparation  to  me  and  God 
by  turning  out  these  people  from  under  your  roof." 

Driscoll  stared  at  him  with  a  half-dazed  expres- 
sion, as  if  he  did  not  fully  understand. 

"  Reparation — turn  out — a  woman  and  a  child — 
in  the  snow  that's  in  it,"  he  murmured  disjointedly. 

"  Snow  or  no  snow,  you  must  abide  by  the  law 
of  God  or  suffer  for  it — here  and  hereafter,"  Father 
Mahon  said  ruthlessly. 

He  stood  by  the  side  of  the  bed  looking  down 
menacingly  at  Driscoll,  whose  eyes  had  closed 
again. 

"  Well  ? "  he  said  brusquely. 

A  smile  grew  slowly  on  the  old  man's  face. 
His  eyes  opened,  and  he  looked  at  the  priest 
fearlessly. 

"  I'll  leave  myself  to  God.  The  kind  heart  of 
Him  might  overlook  my  coming  before  Him  with- 
out the  holy  oil  on  me,"  he  said  simply. 

The  priest  put  his  stole  in  the  pocket  of  his 
soutane,  walked  half-way  to  the  door,  stood,  biting 
his  nails  as  if  perplexed,  and  came  back  to  the  bedside. 


WAITING  383 

"  I  want  to  give  you  every  chance — the  Church 
is  a  kind  mother.  Will  you  turn  them  out  ?  "  he 
said  in  a  softer  tone. 

"  God  won't  ask  me  to  do  what  1  haven't  the 
heart  to  do  myself — His  own  Mother,  they  say, 
was  once  turned  out  in  the  snow,  and  He  within 
her.  No,  He  won't  ask  me,"  Driscoll  said  wearily. 

Father  Mahon  muttered,  "  Your  sins  be  on  your 
own  head  then,"  and  left  the  room. 

He  snatched  his  overcoat  off  the  kitchen  table, 
and  stalked  out  of  the  house,  without  a  glance  at 
Alice  and  Bessy  Reilly  who  were  standing  by  the 
fireplace. 

Driscoll  was  praying  in  an  intense  voice  when 
Alice  entered  the  bedroom.  She  could  make  out 
the  Irish  words  of  Our  Father.  She  smoothed  his 
pillow.  He  prayed  on,  unheeding.  She  sat  by  the 
head  of  the  bed  and  unconsciously  repeated  the 
words  as  they  fell  from  his  lips.  Soon  the  beads 
slipped  from  his  fingers,  and  he  seemed  to  sleep. 
After  a  while  he  opened  his  eyes  and  spoke  rapidly. 

"Now  I'm  ready — going  before  God  with  all 
the  rites  of  the  Church — it's  grand  to  feel  my  God 
within  me.  And  the  young  priest,  Father  Malone, 
that  gave  me  the  Holy  Communion,  had  the  look 
of  a  saint  on  him." 

He  looked  at  Alice  with  glassy  eyes  that  opened 
wide  questioningly.  Then,  with  a  smile  of  re- 
cognition, he  said — 

"  The  rooms  are  all  ready.  There's  nothing 
now  in  our  way,"  and  he  talked  on  to  the  girl  he 
had  been  about  to  marry  years  ago. 

Half  frightened,  Alice  called  in  Bessy  Reilly, 
who  felt  his  pulse  and  watched  the  workings  of  his 
livid  face. 


384  WAITING 

"  Maurice,  send  me  out  a  class,"  he  said  in  a 
feeble  voice.  "  It's  a  lesson  in  grafting  this 
morning." 

"  The  end  is  in  his  eyes,"  Bessy  said,  "  and  the 
wit  is  gone  out  of  his  words.  It's  lucky  we  had  the 
priest  in  time." 

"  Could  you  send  for  my  husband  ?  "  Alice  said. 
"  He's  probably  at  Liscannow." 

Bessy  came  back  in  about  ten  minutes,  and  said 
that  Jim  Reardon  had  gone  off  on  a  horse  of  Clancy's, 
and  wouldn't  be  a  minute.  She  knelt  by  the  bed- 
side and  read  the  prayers  for  the  dying.  Now  and 
again  Driscoll  gave  the  responses,  but  mostly  he 
talked  of  Ireland  and  the  great  country  she  was 
going  to  be.  .  .  . 

Two  hours  later,  when  Maurice  came  in  hurriedly, 
he  found  Driscoll  propped  up  with  pillows,  breath- 
ing with  a  stertorous  rattle,  his  fingers  twitching 
the  sheet. 

"  I'm  afraid  he  won't  know  you,"  Alice  said 
tearfully. 

Driscoll  turned  his  head  slightly  on  the  pillow 
and  smiled. 

"  God  kept  the  life  in  me  till  you  came,"  he 
whispered.  His  voice  had  a  new  strength,  and  the 
unseeing  stare  had  gone  from  his  eyes.  "  How 
many  votes  did  you  get  ?  " 

"  About  one  in  three,  we  expect ;  but  don't 
think  of  that  now,"  Maurice  said  brokenly,  kneeling 
by  the  bed. 

"  I'm  glad  my  vote  was  one  of  them.  You'll 
bear  no  malice,  Maurice  agra  ?  The  heart  of  the 
people  is  all  right,  only  some  of  them  are  led 
astray.  Men  make  differences,  but  some  day  God'll 
scatter  them  like  the  sun  sucks  up  the  mist  on 


WAITING  385 

a  May  morning.  Only  you  won't  run  away, 
Maurice  ?  It's  in  Ireland  where  you're  most 
wanted  that  you  must  work — better  still,"  he  said 
pleadingly,  "  in  Bourneen."  His  voice  faltered. 
"  And  now  if  you'd  say  the  Litany  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin  for  me  ?  I'd  like  to  hear  it." 

A  troubled  look  passed  over  his  face  while 
Maurice  was  seeking  the  page  of  the  Litany  in 
the  Prayer-book. 

"There's  something  else  on  my  mind,  and  then 
I'm  ready.  Oh  ! — Duffy,  the  lawyer'll  tell  you 
all  about  it.  That's  how  you  can  stay  here  if  you 
like.  I  don't  put  it  on  you  to  stay.  And  I  can't 
ease  the  hardest  things  you'll  have  to  bear.  But 
I've  left  you  the  cottage  and  the  garden  and  the 
little  I  have  put  by.  No  one  can  take  the  bread 

out  of  your  mouths  till "  he  paused  and  smiled 

hopefully,  "  till,  please  God,  nobody'll  want  to  try  ; 
and  now,  begin — f  We  fly  to  thy  patronage,  O  holy 
mother  of  God.'  " 

He  gave  the  responses  firmly  for  a  few  seconds. 
Then  his  head  fell  back.  Maurice  read  on.  Bessy 
Reilly  came  to  the  bed  with  an  anxious  face.  She  put 
her  hand  over  Driscoll's  heart,  took  the  watch,  which 
was  hanging  on  the  bed-post,  and  held  the  glass  to 
his  lips.  She  scanned  the  glass  closely  in  the  light. 

"  He's  gone  home,"  she  said  quietly. 

Alice  sobbed  aloud.  Maurice  looked  at  the  bed 
in  silence  for  a  few  moments,  then  he  read  the 
prayer  to  the  end. 

"  Maurice,"  Alice  called  through  the  open  back 
door. 

He  wiped  the  earth  off  his  spade  and  stuck  it 
in  the  ground. 

2    C 


386  WAITING 

"  Breakfast  ? "  he  said,  smiling  as  he  approached. 

"  And  the  post." 

"  A  letter  from  Breslin,"  he  said,  opening  it. 

"Well?" 

"  He  wants  us  back,  says  I'm  even  a  worse  fool 
than  he  always  thought  me.  And  he  has  bought 
a  Chippendale  bookcase — his  Chinese  period.  Louis 
doesn't  much  like  it — not  pure  enough  in  design, 
he  says." 

"  Poor  Louis  !  "  she  said  compassionately.  She 
laid  her  hand  on  Maurice's  shoulder.  "  Though 
Uncle  John,  too,  says  we're  beating  chaff,"  she 
added  thoughtfully,  "  and  your  father  hasn't  been 
near  us  since  the  funeral.  People  shun  me  in  the 
street — and  the  way  they  look  at  me.  ..."  Her 
voice  broke  off  in  a  whisper. 

"  I've  brought  all  this  on  you — it  is  too  much 
for  you,  we 

"  I'm  a  coward— but  I'm  strong  too,"  she 
interrupted.  She  trembled  and  leant  against  him 
for  support.  Her  lips  twitched.  She  bent  her 
head  so  that  he  could  not  see  her  face,  and  bit 
her  lips  in  an  effort  to  control  them.  She 
straightened  herself  and  faced  him  with  shining  eyes. 

"  We'll  wait,"  she  said  firmly.  "  You  believe 
it's  worth  while  ? " 

"  It's  more  than  the  dawn  already,"  he  said  with 
enthusiasm.  "  Priests  even  have  come  round. 
Father  Malone  says  the  mission  was  all  wrong. 
Father  Cassidy  and  Father  Delahunty  are  friendly. 
Others " 

"  Then  we'll  wait  for  the  sun  to  rise,"  she  said, 
watching  the  dark  clouds  on  the  horizon.  "  Truth 
and  freedom  must  come  of  faith  and  love — we'll 
stay  here  working,  enduring,  waiting." 


WAITING  387 

Maureen  stood  between  them,  facing  the  open 
door.  She  listened  with  a  puzzled  puckering  of 
her  forehead.  Her  face  brightened  when  Alice 
stopped  speaking. 

"  What  is  Maureen  do-ning,  mammy  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  I  don't  know,  dear." 

"Waiting— just  waiting.  Mammy  waiting. 
Daddy  waiting.  Maureen  waiting." 

The  clouds  parted  and  a  gleam  of  sun  lit 
her  hair. 


THE  END 


PRINTED   BY   WILLIAM    CI.OWKS   AND   SONS,    LIMITED,    LONDON   AND   BECCLES. 


/v 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  040  048     1 


